iDEAL bLACK
by AvengerEmiya
Summary: *Lemon With a Plot* The Holy Grail was thought to have been destroyed two years ago, but it was nothing but a fraud. With the appearance of two new grails, and a girl claiming to be their standard-bearer, all of London becomes a battlefield for a new Holy Grail War - the Black Grail War. (Post-Unlimited Blade Works.)
1. Chap 1 - From the King's Tomb

**Chapter 1: From the King's Tomb**

-:- _The 1st Night_ -:-

* * *

 _ **~To those who want story, but don't like lemons: Relax. I'll put big, juicy warnings up so you can enjoy the story lemon-free.**_

 _ **Enjoy.**_

* * *

Shirou wasn't sure how he found himself at the River Thames that night.

Most likely, it had to do with Rin being gone. She went off to Germany this time, looking for the person she hoped to make her "master." The idea of apprenticeship or how it even worked was still lost to Shirou, but a fair bit of competition in the Clock Tower thrived on it.

Some magi only took the cream of the crop as apprentices. Other were less selective; their only qualification being that their prospect students leave some type of impression on them. Then there were the strange ones; the eccentric lot who literally picked anyone who would ask. Shirou was not a part of this world despite attending the Clock Tower. Really, he wasn't even a student, and when Rin - his only excuse for being at the Clock Tower - was off somewhere, he would always feel awkward while simply walking the institute's halls. Maybe that was why Shirou was gazing out on England's longest river by himself: Just so he could be away.

Regardless, it was this coincidence that caused him to standing there when a girl in a battle dress arose from the waters.

Blonde and with a familiar face, he almost mistook her for Saber. Though, on closer inspection, he noticed the difference. Then the girl coughed.

 _'She's still breathing!'_ was Shirou's only thought before he peeled off his jacket and shoes, and dove in after her. Grabbing her, he swam back to the embankment.

On that dark knight, even with the bright lights that usually lit up the River Thames, not a soul would have noticed the girl until it was too late. It was miracle that Shirou even did. Another miracle was that she was still breathing despite having floated so far down the river.

"Hey! Hey, are you alrig-?"

Those concerning words stopped when Shirou got a closer look at what the girl had brought out of the water with her - the Holy Grail. There was no mistake. Its image had long since been imprinted in his memories.

So many questions arose: Who was this girl? Why did she have the grail with her? Where did she get those scars?

While he attempted to compile at least some of these thoughts, the girl beside him woke up.

"Hmm...? ...Who are you?" she asked.

Shirou calmed himself. At least there was one question he had an answer to.

* * *

 **|||~I~|||**

* * *

They were the last penance Shirou had left. Attempting to call Rin one more time, he slid them into the payphone.

"Come on. Pick up, Tohsaka..."

Her heard ringing, more ringing and then silence.

"Seriously...? What was the point of her even getting cellphone?"

If there was ever a time where Shirou needed Rin around, it was now. Right outside the phone booth sat the girl he had just saved. Like a mother would her child, she kept the Holy Grail cradled within her lap.

When her savior came out of the booth, she finally tore her eyes from it.

"Did your call get through?"

"No. I just wasted all my change trying, though."

With a sigh, he sat down next to her. Everything on him, save his jacket, was wet; and the chilly London air wasn't helping things. Shirou would have asked the girl next to him if she was cold as well, but he knew that a Servant would be burdened by such a thing. Even the scars she had when he rescued her from the river were mostly all healed already.

"So... You said your name was Ruler? I never heard of a Servant class like that before."

"It's a special class separate from the usual seven. When the grail itself feels threatened, it summons standard-bearers like myself to guide the conflicts. Even wars occasionally require order."

"Shouldn't you have been called two years ago when the grail was destroyed, then?"

"What was destroyed then was not the true grail. It was replica of the Lesser Grail."

Shirou made a face.

"Replica? Lesser Grail? ...You mean the grail in Fuyuki was a fake?"

"The copied Lesser Grail was fake, and the Greater Grail that was born from it was tainted. For those reasons, I was not summoned during the previous conflict. This current war is different matter."

 _Current war_ , she said. So a new Holy Grail conflict truly had started, and only two years after the previous one. That was unprecedented. The fifth war occurred a decade after the fourth, and even _that_ was considered a huge folly.

"The...Lesser Grail, you called it? It's authentic, not like one used in the fifth war?" Shirou asked, still trying to process things.

Ruler nodded.

"And you only get called when it's threatened? Who's trying to destroy it?"

"Another Ruler."

Shirou was at a lost. "But...how-"

"I'm sorry. It would take too long to explain, and I have already wasted enough time as it is."

Ruler stood from the bench with the grail still in hand, then briefly asked for Shirou's name.

"It's Shirou. Shirou Emiya.

"I thank the Lord for sending you to me when He did, Shirou, but now is my time to depart."

"To where? What are planning to do with the grail?"

Ruler hugged the Lesser Grail closer to her.

"I'm going to summon a Servant with it."

It was strange how quickly Shirou processed this, especially when compared to how he took in everything else. It was also amazing how quickly he made up his mind about what to do next. Most of Ruler's wounds had healed, but whoever had given her them in the first place was likely still looking for her. Trying to pretend that he could protect a Servant better than she could protect himself was likely just stupid chivalry on Shirou's part.

Or maybe it was that Ruler looked too much like Saber for him to not help.

Regardless, he stood. "Fine. I'm coming with you."

"Shirou, it's not your responsibility to-"

"I just got done saving your life. Until I've made sure it's safe for good, you're stuck with me for tonight."

Once again, the two found themselves staring at each other.

"...Are you a magus, Shirou?"

"Yes, I am."

Hearing that made Ruler come to strange resolution. She then asked Shirou "What's the best way to get from London to Somerset?"

* * *

 **|||~I~|||**

* * *

Catching a bus out of London at this time of night was a challenge. Especially for Shirou, who still had trouble reading English. In the end, he and Ruler were riding out of the United Kingdom's capital. It was a long bus ride, and a quiet one. Occasionally, Shirou would look over at the Ruler gazing at the passing scenery, unable to decipher any of her thoughts from the reflection in the window.

They eventually arrived at their destination, and started towards Glastonbury. The moment Ruler brought up Somerset and summoning a Servant, Shirou knew exactly what her goal was: She planned to summon the legendary ruler of Britain - **King Arthur.**

When summoning Servants, one thing to keep in mind was _where_ the Servant was summoned. If conjured in the lands where their legend originated, their strength could go unchallenged. Throughout all of Britain - even the United Kingdom itself - there existed no hero of greater fame than the King of Knights. Her's was a legend that rivaled those of Heracles and Achilles. If Ruler managed to summon her anywhere within England, it would be no exaggeration to say she could win this current war single-handedly.

And what better place to try to summon a heroic spirit than near their tomb?

After a short walk, the duo stood at the entrance of Glastonbury Abbey. It was far past closing hours, but fortunately, the abbey wasn't a heavily guarded place at night. Sneaking in was as easy as walking through the entrance. Once inside, Shirou took in the familiar sight of the abbey. Even at night, it was hard not to appreciate the medieval architecture in spite of most of it being in ruin.

"...Shirou, before we go any further, there's something that must be taken care of first. Glastonbury was once a monastery, was it not? Is there a house of worship nearby?"

Ruler's tone was as stern as her expression. This concerned Shirou somewhat, but he brushed it off and guided her to Lady Chapel, the last standing house of worship that remained in the abbey. Several of its walls were missing as well as most of the second floor, but Ruler didn't mind that. Nor did she mind the lack of a cross or any depiction of Christ for her to pray to.

After setting the Lesser Grail on the altar, she bowed before it and gave prayer. Silently, Shirou watched her. It was the first time he really paid any attention to her beauty. They were almost unreal, her doll-like face and pristine features. Just the image of her praying, by itself, should have been immortalized in a painting, then hung up within the Vatican's walls.

"Amen. Shirou...can you come over here, please?"

"What is it, Ruler?"

"Do you remember what I said about the other Ruler? It's because of them that I am trying to summon a Servant. There is a issue, however: I am not a magus. I was never born with magic circuits. I have high [Magic Resistance], but it stems only from my faith. Actually summoning a Servant would be impossible for someone like myself."

So, that was what the reality of the situation. Even though Ruler had the grail, she had no ways of making use of it. It was like being stranded on an island with an oar but no raft.

"Is that why you asked if I was a magus? Do you want me to do the ritual instead?"

"No. You see, several functions of the Lesser Grail were locked away. Ruler sabotaged it so that it would not respond to magi. To be more specific: It refuses to give out Command Seals. Making a contract is impossible for you, Shirou."

"So...there's nothing we can do about this?"

"There is... _something_. It may be impossible for you to form a contract with Heroic Spirits, but providing them with mana and keeping an already existing spirit in this world is still possible. The exact opposite goes for me: I can't provide any mana, but I can make a contract with the Servant."

"I thought that was impossible for Servants? I mean, I know a Servant that pulled it off, but she was cheating the grail's system the whole time."

"Servants cannot summon other Servants, because spiritual bodies cannot support other spiritual bodies. I am an exception due to my body being made of flesh."

"You... Your body is body is real?!"

"It's something similar to possession. Though, not quite. Either way, yes. I may have the capabilities of a Servant, but my body is as real as yours. I'm fully capable of forming a contract with a Heroic Spirit."

"Then as long as I can provide it mana, we can summon a Servant together, right?"

"Yes, but we'll need to form our own contract first. Something that allows us to share the burdens of managing a Heroic Spirit."

"Alright... How do we do that?"

Ruler's face suddenly started to boil.

"Shirou... I... I need for you to lay with me."

There was silence within the chapel.

"You mean...sex?"

Ruler nodded meekly.

"To form a contract with you, I'll need your mana. Intercourse is the best way, to-"

"A-are you sure there isn't another way?!"

He knew better than to ask. She wouldn't have made such a suggestion in the first place if another option was available.

"No... I sorry that I don't fit your taste, but-"

"That's not it! Trust me. ...You're beautiful. It's just, I have a girlfriend, so..."

An awkward silence breezed between them again. Shirou had made a similar contract with Rin when she temporarily gave him some of her mana to fight Gilgamesh. Rin's face constantly ran through his thoughts like a slideshow.

"This truly is the only way, Shirou..."

"Damn it...! I'm sorry, Tohsaka..."

Shirou took off his jacket, the only piece of clothing he had that wasn't moist, and laid it on the chapel's floor.

"Sorry, but this is best we can do as far making things more comfortable," he said.

"N-no! It's very considerate, actually. ...Let's get started."

* * *

 **|||WARNING|||**

 **X~I~I~I~I~I~I~X~ Lemon ~X~I~I~I~I~I~I~X**

* * *

Ruler laid herself on Shirou's jacket after dematerializing all her armor. At first, Shirou had assumed that her corset was propping up her chest and squeezing her waist, but no - Ruler's body was just that curvaceous.

Seeing how daunted she was, Shirou had to ask "Is this your first time?"

"Yes. I'm a little scared..."

"Don't worry. I promise I'll be gentle."

While he was sure Ruler didn't share Rin's temperament, Shirou really didn't want to relive his past as a "beast." As tenderly as he could, Shirou cupped Ruler's large breasts in his hands. He had had never felt anything so soft before. It was like he was fondling marshmallows. Feeling Ruler's erect nipples poking at the inside of his hands, Shirou decided to let them breathe.

"I'm pulling them out, Ruler."

She meekly nodded in response.

Shirou opened the top of her battle dress, and two voluptuous melons popped out at him. It was sight that almost made his jaw drop. Ruler's beasts looked so plump, he had to fill his hand with one. Or, at least, he tried. The busty tit wouldn't fit in his hand no matter how much he fondled it. Seeing how little attention the other breast was getting, Shirou softly bit down on its nipple.

" _Mmnh~!"_

Despite looking luscious than any fruit he had ever seen, Ruler's breasts didn't taste sweet. Honestly, Shirou was a little disappointed. While tasting and fondling her chest, he also ran his other hand down one of the Servant's creamy thighs. They were meaty too. Shirou almost wondered what _they_ tasted like.

To say Ruler had the perfect figure would not do her or her body justice. Neither did saying she was curvy, buxom, or well-stacked. Her ample bosom, her wide hips, her smooth thighs. "Sexy" was the only word for it. By far, she had more sex appeal than any other woman Shirou had ever met.

After listening to her moan, he couldn't wait any longe; and after he playing between Ruler's legs, and seeing how wet his fingers were, he knew that she couldn't either.

"That's... so humiliating."

"Heh... It's fine, Ruler. It's normal to get like this."

Shirou's zipper came down, and the head of his dick teased the standard-bearer's lower lips.

"...I'm gonna go slow. Alright, Ruler?"

"Jeanne..."

"Hmm?"

"My true name... It's Jeanne d'Arc."

 **Joan of Arc** \- the Maid of Orléans. During the Hundred Years War, when the French were constantly losing territory against the English, a peasant girl from Domrémy, claiming to be guided by God, made it her divine mission to expel the invaders from her homeland. That was who the girl underneath Shirou truly was: a Saint.

He smiled sweetly. "Alright, Jeanne... Here I go."

At first, the head went in slowly. Then Shirou quickly forced the rest of his way in. Jeanne yelped and beat his chest as she bled.

"Y-you said you would go slow!"

"It'll start feeling good soon."

"Hmph... As if I would believe you now..."

Why did Shirou suddenly find himself feeling deja'vu? He brushed it off, and continue his coitus with Jeanne.

" _Aah~ Hah~ Hah~_ "

Jeanne's moans resounded off what walls the Lady Chapel still had, with her heavy breasts floundering madly. The pair were beautiful in motion - mesmerizing even. Shirou couldn't tear eyes away.

That is until Jeanne's pussy squeezed him tighter.

" _Nnh-!_ "

He felt so good, it was almost painful. It was like her walls of her pussy were trying to squeeze him to death. It should have slowed him down, but Shirou sped up instead. The sounds his crotch and Jeanne's made each time they met got even lewder.

" _Aah-! Ha-!_ S-Shirou... Go slower like you said..."

"Oh! Sorry..."

This was what Rin scolded him about. He would always be overtaken by the pleasure, and forget about his partner. But still... Jeanne's tight, virgin pussy was felt way too good.

Were virgins always like this? He never noticed with Rin since he was also a virgin at the time, but Jeanne's pussy seemed like it trying to squeeze the life out of him. It was amazing.

"Does it still hurt, Jeanne?"

"No... I feels a little good, now."

"Alright. Let's do this, then."

"Huh...?"

Shirou flipped Jeanne over and put her on her hands and knees.

"Shirou! This position is-"

"Really sexy."

" _Aanh~ Noo...-_ "

From behind, Shirou penetrated her. To fuck a Saint in such a position while inside a House of the Lord - It was a miracle lightning had yet to strike him.

Moonlight got inside the chapel. It danced off Jeanne's smooth, shapely bottom; which shook slightly which each thrust Shirou gave it. Her cheeks were as comely as her breasts, and as flawless as every other speck of her skin.

How ironic it was for a saint to invoke so much lust.

" _Uhn-_ " Shirou felt himself about to cum and hastened his pace. "Jeanne...!"

He held onto her waist as he came inside her.

" _Uaaaaaahh~~~_ "

Jeanne could feel herself being filled up. Every time Shirou's dick pulsated, she felt it. When the load was fully delivered, Shirou released her, and let her fall gently onto his jacket.

She panted while hot cum leaked like a creak down one of her thighs.

"The contract...is now...complete..."

* * *

 **|||SAFE ZONE|||**

* * *

"I wasn't too rough, was I?" Shirou asked while he and Ruler dressed themselves.

"N-no... It was actually less painful than I imagined it would be. ...It even began enjoying it near the end."

That was relieving for Shirou to hear. Perhaps he was just sensitive to this sort of thing, but beast called a brute in the past had traumatized him a bit.

A contract now formed, Shirou and Ruler headed for High Alter. Very soon, Shiro and Saber would meet again. What would he say when they did? Then it occurred to Shirou that Servants couldn't remember the last time they were summoned anyway. The thought of Saber not even remembering his face, disappointment him a bit.

"Shirou, stop!" Ruler commanded, sticking out an arm.

Not being a Servant, Shirou wasn't able to notice him until he materialized himself. A silver-armored knight stood before them. He didn't block their path to the High Altar, but his emotionless eyes said that he would not let them escape either.

"Gilles..." Ruler murmured.

Shirou did not even have to ask to know who the man before them's identity was. If Ruler's identity was Joan of Arc, the knight's identity could only be **Gilles de Rais**.

One of Joan of Arc's most famous comrade-in-arms, he fought beside her during the Hundred Years War. All of the glory he gained during those battles, however, faded, after the Maid of Orléans death. Not long after her conflagration, a dispute with a local bishop caused his lands to be seized by the church, and he himself discovered to be responsible for the murders of hundreds of children - Murders he was later executed for. In spite of this harrowing legend, however, the man in front of them had the aura of proper knight. A true nobleman, even.

"Gilles, why are you-"

"Tame your tongue, witch. I will not bleed my ears listening to your deceit."

"Gilles, it's me! Jeanne!"

A sword materialized in the knight's right hand.

"Cursed sibyl... Not only do you steal her face, you dare to take her name as well? To facade as my Holy Virgin...is a sin worthy only of God's holy retribution."

His words were just as cold as the London waters that almost drowned her. As many battles as they had fought together, as much time as they had spent together, as much as they had confided in each other; why couldn't Gilles recognize her? How could he deny her right now?

"Ruler!"

Shirou's voice shocked her back to her senses.

"Shirou..."

"The ritual - shouldn't you go do it as soon as possible?" he asked.

Indeed, she should, but with Gilles here, plans have changed.

"Gilles is a Servant. If I leave you to perform the ritual, you will have to fight him by yourself."

"That's fine."

"What! Shirou, no magus can fight a-"

"I did it before, and I'm still here somehow. I'm not saying I can beat him, but I can at least hold him back long enough for you perform the ritual. Now, go on."

Shirou stepped forward. " _ **Trace On!**_ "

Kickstarting his magic circuits, cackling flashes of light lit up in his hands. Kanshou and Bakuya, a pair of swords, one black and its twin the color white, were projected in his hands. Though he was now armed, Gilles still didn't perceive Shirou as a threat. It had not been the first time he was underestimated. Like a sprinter when a pistol was fired, Shirou broke off towards the knight.

Jeanne didn't wait to see what the outcome of their first clash would be. She ran for King Arthur's tomb, the sounds of steel hitting steel ringing out behind her.

* * *

 **|||~I~|||**

* * *

Right in front of the High Altar was where Arthur's tomb resided. Flowers had been placed upon it. It was not a strange thing. Despite none of them being alive during her reign, the people of Great Britain still visited and left blessings for their king.

 _'I have to be quick,'_ Ruler thought while sitting the Lesser Grail over the flowers.

In spite of what some believed, the preparations for summoning a Servant were not overly complimated. All one really needed was a conjuring ward, blood, a chant and, preferably, a catalyst of some sort.

With a suitable catalyst and a talented enough magus, the first three steps could be disregarded entirely. Unfortunately, Ruler had no catalyst and was no magus. However, she _was_ a Ruler class Servant. Most of her abilities were lost to her, but she could interact with Lesser Grail directly. It was a like temporarily overriding a system shutdown using a special key.

There was no more time to waste.

After hastily tracing a ward around the tomb with her sword, Ruler cut herself and let her blood leak into the grail. She didn't need much.

She then chanted...

 _ **Fill. Fill. Fill. Fill. Fill.**_

 _ **Let each be turned over five times, simply breaking asunder the fulfilled time.**_

 _ **Let silver and steel be the essence.**_

 _ **Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation.**_

 _ **Let my one true savior, Christ**_ _ **, be the ancestor.**_

 _ **Let rise a wall against the wind that shall fall.**_

 _ **Let the four cardinal gates close.**_

 _ **Let the three-forked road from the crown reaching unto the Kingdom rotate.**_

Ruler formed a link between herself in the Lesser Grail. The systems that had been locked down were now bypassed.

 _ **Let it be declared now;**_

 _ **your flesh shall serve under me, and my fate shall be with your sword.**_

 _ **Submit to the beckoning of the Holy Grail.**_

 _ **Answer, if you would submit to this will and this truth.**_

Access to the [Throne of Heroes] was granted to her. Ruler could feel them coming. A Heroic Spirit of near peerless prowess. One that held a connection to the tomb before her.

 _ **An oath shall be sworn here.**_

 _ **I shall attain all virtues of all of Heaven;**_

 _ **I shall have dominion over all evils of all of Hell.**_

 _ **From the Seventh Heaven, attended to by three great words of power,**_

 _ **come forth from the ring of restraint, protector of the holy balance!**_

The inside of the Lesser Grail ignited with a blinding gleam. As the visitor from the Throne was arriving, the light that accompanied it expanded until all of the High Altar was bathed in light.

How long had it been since she stepped foot in her homeland?

* * *

 **|||~I~|||**

* * *

Shirou had almost forgotten what this felt like: Facing off against something far beyond you. Barely being able to withstand each blow. Trying to find openings that didn't exist.

It was as nostalgic as it was painful.

" _Gah-_!"

One of Gilles' strokes sent Shirou barrelling across the grass. As soon as he got back on his feet, he rushed the knight again. Not even taking a stance, the Servant parried each blow Shirou delivered.

On the final parry, Gilles disarmed the magus of both Kanshou and Bakuya, then moved in for the killing blow.

 _'_ _ **Trace On...!**_ '

Shirou barely projected [ **Durandal** ] in time. Sparks flew and he staggered backwards, almost losing his footing again. The hand that held the fabled sword trembled. Shirou had successfully blocked the attack, but his arm almost went numb as a result.

"That makes nine times... Nine times, I have either disarmed you of your weapons or destroyed them entirely," Gilles said. "Making new arms seems to be your specialty."

It was only because of this specialty that Shirou had managed to last as long as he did. Gilles had obviously been classed as a Saber. In a one-on-one bout, Shirou stood no chance.

Projecting new weapons each time he lost his old ones gave him an slight edge, but it wasn't a true advantage. Not when he knew he couldn't keep it up forever. This wasn't like his fight with Gilgamesh. His opponent was at full power and specialized in close quarters rather than ranged combat. Also, nothing was bolstering his strength like Rin's contract had. Shirou's back was against the wall.

Then again, winning was never his goal; survival was.

 _'One more minute... I can keep up with him for one more minute!'_

" _ **Trace on!**_ " he exclaimed.

The legendary sword of Sigurd [ **Gram** ] was composed in Shirou's other hand. Wielding two of Europe's most revered weapons, he locked into arms with the french knight one last time.

Everything he had went into this final spurt. Each slash struck fiercer than the last. Each blow carried more weight than last. Each of Gilles' attacks were parried quicker than the last.

The knight of horrors was both alarmed and slightly awed by Shirou's assault. Calling it a cornered mouse standing its ground would have been an understatement. He didn't just want to scare off his predator, Shirou meant to slay it - to defy the established food chain.

 _'Lunacy'_ was all Gilles thought while the clashes of his and Shirou's blades lit up the abbey.

It was lunacy because no matter how fierce his slashes, how strong his blows or how quick their technique, Shirou could not win.

Both [ **Durandal** ] and [ **Gram** ] were shattered to pieces with a single, powerful stroke. It was obvious they would. At the end of the day, they were still just copies - knock-offs of original. Even without a Noble Phantasm, Gilles could overcome such fabrications.

Burying his boot in Shirou's stomach launched the magus over twenty yards away.

" _Uyaargh-!_ "

Gagging for air, Shirou lay crumpled on his side while Gilles approached.

"Nearly three minutes you managed to stand your ground. Death should have came to you a dozen times over, yet you still breathe. That is worth many felicitations, mage." Gilles pricked Shirou's throat with the tip of his sword. "But you also shield the imposter who wears Jeanne's face, and that is worth twice as many deaths..."

Shirou's watched Gilles raise his sword. A minute exactly - that was how long he lasted. It just wasn't enough.

 _'Sorry...Rin...'_

As the frenchman's knight plunged, an array of light from the direction of High Alter stopped it. Gilles stared in bemusement.

"She...actually used the grail? But how?! It should have been useless!"

Shirou was also captivated by the light. When he had summoned Saber, his eyes were closed, so he never got to witness the spectacle that came with a Servant being summoned. Eventually, it died down. Then footsteps were heard; heavy, armored ones. They were too nostalgic for Shirou not to react.

"...Saber?!"

From the ruins of the abbey, an armored Servant appeared. The Servant of the sword - Saber.

A Servant Shirou had never seen before.

With armor shades of silver and crimson, a helmet that bore horns and a sword as menacing as its wielder; the warrior before Shirou gave off an aura more akin to a gladiator than a knight. But then, why would someone like that be summoned at King Arthur's tomb?

Shirou couldn't come up with an answer before the silver knight launched itself at the Servant standing over him. It smashed against Gilles like a freight train, sending him skidding back for yards.

Had it been a truck, a bus or even a tank, the result would have been same. Perhaps, even more devastating, actually. And the knight didn't stop. Just as Gilles stopped skidding, they bashed against him again, and again, and once more until his back smashed into one of the lone-standing walls of the abbey.

Even then, the barbarous knight shot itself once more at Gilles like a missile. It was like a explosive had gone off. The collision brought the entire wall down, and made the debris plume. It wafted about in a gray cloud which Gilles jumped out of it.

He was bleeding, and wounds could be seen where the pieces of his armor had fallen off. All of this with just five blows.

The first had chipped his sword, the second debased his armor; on the third, his arms went numb; on the fourth, he bled and on the fifth his left leg became useless. Even in a battle against Servants, such overwhelming defeats were rare. And yet, it was obvious that this new Servant outmatched Gilles by leagues.

"Ha! And you call yourself a Saber? Throw away your sword and take up a plow, you serf!" the silver knight taunted while walking from the debris.

"...What are you?"

The knight raised its blade. "The disgrace of Camelot..."

Then it kicked off the ground with such force, the debris surrounding it dispersed. Unable to properly evade, Gilles put up his sword to defend. He may as well have been holding a parasol to a meteor. For, just like one, the knight's sword came down with an impact that shattered the earth below it; tearing it asunder with a single, obliterating blow. Even outside the abbey, the streets of Glastonbury quaked.

And so concluded the first battle of the **Black Grail War**.


	2. Chap 2 - In Her Father's Footsteps

**Chapter 2: In Her Father's Footsteps**

-:- _The 2nd Night_ -:-

* * *

It was the most humiliating blunder in Bram Nuade-Re Sophia-Ri's career as a director of the Clock Tower. One that, even if the other professors forgave him for, he most certainly wouldn't. To think that he trusted another magus so closely made him ill.

"This offense will not be forgotten, Idmund..."

He hissed the name of his wrongdoer as he marched through the Clock Tower's halls that night. The director of the Department of Summoning, whose office he was enroute to - was already aware of what had happened, and a private meeting have been arranged for that night.

When Bram entered the director's office, two faces he knew well were already inside - the owner of the office, Rocco Belfaban; and one of the Clock Tower's most revered lecturer's, Lord El-Melloi II. There was also a third guest, one that the young instructor had yet to be introduced to.

"Good that you could finally join us, Lord Sophia-Ri. Allow me to introduce you to Mister Emiya," the director said. "He's the one who brought the Holy Grail to the Clock Tower."

Bram gave Shirou the type of look you would expect an art appraiser to give a museum piece. Whatever value he deduced must have satisfied him, for he nodded in acknowledgement before closing the door and taking a seat adjacent to him.

"Forgive me, director. Recent events held me up."

"We were actually discussing said events before you arrived."

Lord El-Melloi II lit a cigar, ignoring a disgusted look Belfaban gave him. "So... Just how many catalysts got stolen?"

"...All of them," Bram answered.

El-Melloi sighed and puffed smoke at the same time.

"So your were cleaned out, were you?"

"Yes. Very thoroughly, I might add. It seems Idmund had been planning this hoax for quite some time. Not only did he want enough Servants to start a war with, he also wanted to leave the Clock Tower entirely defenseless. Finding new catalysts for us to use will not be easy..."

"Don't bother. You'll just be wasting your time, now."

"Lord El-Melloi, what are you-"

"The _second_. Don't forget the _second_."

"...Lord El-Melloi II, what exactly are you saying?"

El-Melloi signaled Belfaban with a look.

"According to Mister Emiya, it is currently impossible for another magus to make a contract with the Grail."

While his face was typically brimming with involuntary confidence, Bram's expression was rife with astonishment after hearing the director's words.

All eyes then fell on the Japanese sitting beside him. Realizing it was his time to speak, Shirou briefly retold the previous night's events.

"So, you made a contract with this...Ruler Servant? And you're positive there is no other way for another magus to make such a contract with her?"

"No. Not even if she wanted to."

While not the first time Bram had heard of such a contract, but Shirou was the first person he knew to have used it. Little did he know, his own late sister had made a similar contract with her fiance - the previous Lord El-Melloi - during the fourth Holy Grail War. While he knew of Sola-ui Nuade-Re Sophia-Ri's involvement in the war, the contract she and Lord El-Melloi I made was known only by Lord El-Melloi II, and the elders of both magician clans.

"Well... This puts us at a lost. With as many catalysts as Idmund swindled, it's likely he's already summoned seven Servants, or plans to do so very soon," Bram said. "We only have a single Master and two Servant to go against him."

"Idmund certainly had all his ducks in a row beforehand," added El-Melloi.

"Excuse me. Who's this 'Idmund' guy you all keep talking about?" Shirou asked.

Belfaban explained again.

"It's no suprise you haven't heard the name, Mister Emiya. Idmund Versailles had a tendency of keeping a low profile when he could. He is... _was_ one of the Clock Tower's most astute lecturer's. As a professor within the Department of Spirit Evocation, he worked very closely with Lord Sophia-Ri, and much of Idmund's work outside of his lectures, went unnoted by anyone except him."

"He was brilliant man in spite of hailing from a clan of faded glory. They are among the lowest rungs of Lords in the Clock Tower," Bram said. "Even magi from humbler lineages look down on them," Bram added.

"Do you think that has anything to do with Idmund defecting?" Shirou asked.

"Of course not. Idmund not so petty to start a war over something so banal."

Lord El-Melloi blew more smoke then spoke bluntly.

"Why he defected doesn't matter. He's skilled, he currently has all the Department of Spirit Evocation's catalysts and he's declared war on us. All the other details can come after we've prevented the Clock Tower's destruction."

Clock Tower was the main branch of Mage's Association. Declaring war on it would be akin to painting a target on one's head. It was suicide.

Ordinarily, at least.

In Idmund Versailles case, he had gone through several arrangements to turn this act of suicide to a one-sided match in his favor. Even the Clock Tower's Lords couldn't best Servants in combat, especially the three knight classes who all wielded strong [Magic Resistance]. If Idmund managed to summon seven to fight for his cause, Clock Tower's demise could become very real.

Even worse, he made London the battlefield. He may as well as rolled tanks onto the Clock Tower's doorsteps.

"So, to sum things up: Idmund has us outnumbered in Servants, outmatched in firepower and outwitted in tactics," Lord El-Melloi concluded.

"But he no longer has the element of surprise. Also, Mister Emiya claims to know the identity of one of Idmund's Servants."

Shirou nodded again.

"His identity is **Gilles de Rais**. Somehow he managed to find me and Ruler, even after we left London."

"Then he must have had some way to track you... Did the Servant you and Ruler summoned manage to defeat him?"

"Uh... No. At the last second, his Master must have recalled him using a Command Seal. ...Sorry."

"Don't apologize. From what you say, your own Saber crushed Idmund's," Lord El-Melloi said. "That must mean you summoned a Heroic Spirit native to Britain, right?"

His deduction was approved with a nod from Shirou.

"Was the hero you summoned, by chance, **King Arthur**?"

"...No, it wasn't."

Despite having been the one to throw out the guess, El-Melloi was relieved that the King of Knights had not been summoned again. To this day, recalling her face or anything involving the fourth Holy Grail War resurfaced some traumatizing memories.

"Well, as long as a Servant got summoned, it's fine. As much as I hate to say this to someone who's really only a guest at this institution: You are the only one we can rely on."

Most would have taken El-Melloi II's words as insult - that he was belittling the third-rate magus before him. However, Shirou had been on the receiving end of such comments enough times to understand what Lord El-Melloi II was really saying: He didn't want someone who had nothing to gain from sacrificing himself for the Clock Tower to put his life on the line for it.

If he could have it his way, the Lord would have roped in instructors and freelancers to fight against Idmund. Even himself, if that was what it took. Unfortunately, their only option right now was relying on Shirou Emiya and Ruler.

"That's fine," Shirou said.

The curtness and haste of his response surprised the professors. They had suspected, at least, a bit of hesitation from him.

"As expected from a survivor of the Holy Grail War," Belfaban said, impressed.

"That's not it, director."

"Oh?"

"It just that Ruler and I are the only ones who can do it, that's all. If someone more skilled or more experienced could take my place and become Ruler's partner instead, I'd ask Ruler to give me up in heartbeat, but that's not an option. Since it's the only way to prevent the Clock Tower from being attacked, and London possibly being destroyed, I'll fight for you guys."

"...Very well. Clock Tower appreciates your assistance, Mister Emiya. We will assist you in anyway we can, and make sure you are rewarded properly after the fighting has concluded."

"We will also provide you with information regarding Idmund Versailles, and keep you updated regularly," Bram added.

Shirou nodded in thanks. The small conference having concluded, he stood and left the instructors of the Clock Tower to their business.

"Can we really rely on him? He seems eager enough to fight, but his aptitude is among the lowest of the low," Bram said.

"There's nothing we can do. It's either him or no one," said Belfaban.

"Hmm... What are your thoughts, Lord El-Melloi?"

Lord El-Melloi bore a familiar scowl after puffing smoke in the office for the umpteenth time.

"The _second_. While I appreciate the questionable respect of my opinion, I'd like that you try and keep the 'II' when addressing me. The title is unbearable without it."

"Excuse me. Lord El-Melloi II, what are your thoughts on Shirou Emiya?"

"...The world is a very small place."

* * *

 **|||~I~|||**

* * *

Once again, Shirou found himself listening to Rin's voicemail. How many missed calls had he stacked between now and the night before? He even used his own phone to call her this time, but his girlfriend proved as inept with technology as always.

 _'Seriously, just get rid of it if you aren't going to use it, Tohsaka...'_

It was the second time in a row Shirou had been out on the streets of London so late. When he returned that morning with Ruler, he spent up all the daylight sleeping like the dead. However, unlike the night before, he wasn't out idly killing time.

He found himself in the City of Westminster, one of the most important areas in one of the United Kingdom's most important cities. The Palace of Westminster, the Elizabeth Tower, Buckingham Palace - some of England's most important buildings sat in this borough. The grandest of which, Shirou approached.

Westminster Abbey, formally known as the Collegiate Church of St Peter was the structure Shirou sought out that night. After taking a moment to gaze up at its towering entrance, he knocked on its door. He received no answer, as one would expect. It was the middle the night. Plus, the abbey had recently closed while certain renovations were underway.

Yet, Shirou had been told by Belfaban himself that this was where Ruler was sent. Just as he began to question the elder's words, the monastery's doors opened.

"Shirou Emiya, I'm to presume?"

The priest who answered the door was a man of considerable height. Standing easily at seven feet, with faint scars going down one side of his face and a build that betrayed his old age, the priest came off more like a military veteran. Then again, it wasn't the first time Shirou's expectations of a priest had been betrayed.

"Uh... Are you Elijah Malbrook?"

"Ha! I prefer Father Eli, but a little formality is good too, I suppose. I suspect you're here to check up on the Holy Maiden, yes?"

"So, Ruler's here then?"

"What type of priest would I have been if I had turned away a saint? Please, come in."

The imposing-looking priest smiled as he held the door for Shirou.

Inside, Westminster Abbey proved just as impressive as Shirou had heard. Never had visited a place that could so easily serve as church as it could a museum. Statues of late saints stood upon the walls, paintings of past monarchs were hung up, there was chapel in just about every corner of the monastery's main hall, and the gothic style of the abbey resonated with the aged pieces that decorated it.

Eli urged Shirou to follow his broad figure.

"Is the Church acting as mediators again?" Shirou asked as they walked.

"This conflict doesn't really need a mediator, does it? One side obviously has no problem breaking the rules and leaving collateral damage."

"But the Holy Church is still in charge of watching the Grail?"

"Hmm... You're half-right, Shirou Emiya. May I call you Shirou?"

"Sure. And what do you mean by I'm half-right?"

"The Westminster Abbey is only _technically_ affiliated with the Church. We are actually a separate entity from them. Normally, abbeys, cathedrals, churches and monasteries that serve the Holy Church share communion with the Pope. We do not. Our jurisdiction is under that of British monarch. We adhere to the Queen of England herself."

His mouth gaped. "The queen knows about the Holy Church and the Mage's Association?!"

"Of course. As much as Britain's history is steeped in magic and mythology, it would be stranger if she _didn't_ know. The same goes for every member of the Royal Family."

While Shirou was extremely interested in the Royal Family's involvement with the Mage's Association, where Westminster Abbey stood within the church was a more pressing matter.

"How did the most important church in England come under the queen's jurisdiction?"

"While I would argue that St Paul's Cathedral holds more importance, to answer your question: In the mid 16th century in-fighting occurred between separate factions of the Church for possession of this very abbey. It's an extremely valuable place, you see, being so close to the Clock Tower. Near the end, when the struggle threatened to escalate to war, and even the Pope was unable to get things under control again, Queen Elizabeth I intervened. She stopped the fighting by claiming the abbey as a Royal Peculiar, excluding it from the power of any bishop."

"...Basically, she stepped in and said 'This is now my property?'"

"Essentially. Every parishioner who has belonged to the abbey since has answered only to the regent. Currently, we act as a neutral faction between the Holy Church and Clock Tower. Due to... _peculiar_ events, Clock Tower has determined that the Holy Church cannot be trusted with the Grail's safety during this war."

"So they asked you guys, who aren't really a part of Church."

Eli gave Shirou a friendly smile of approval, or at least he tried. Shirou tried holding back the chills that ran up his spine out of respect.

As soon as Eli guided Shirou to Ruler's room, the priest departed for other business. Upon entering the chamber, Shirou noticed Ruler immediately sitting on her new bed with the Grail right beside her. It was so strange to see the thing he had engaged in a life or death free-for-all for being fiddled with so casually.

"Ruler?"

The standard-bearer looked up in surprise. "Shirou... You came."

"Yeah. The first thing I asked Belfaban was what he did with you."

"All I asked for was a safe place where I could hide the Grail. I never expected the director to find me boarding. Though, I must say...it's relaxing to sleep in a church."

Of course it would be for the Maid of Orléans. As a saint, she probably felt more at home in a house of the Lord than in the little French village she grew up in. Though, at the moment, Ruler looked less like a saint than she did a normal high school girl. Where did she get those clothes?

"Ah? These clothes? They belonged Laeticia, the girl whose body I possessed."

Of course. Shirou had forgotten the body Ruler was using belonged someone else.

"Don't worry, Shirou. Once this conflict is resolved I plan to go back to France and return Laeticia's body to her."

"...What are you going to do about her lost virginity?"

Ruler's face flared up. Apparently, she hadn't thought that far.

"A-a-anyway...! After catching some sleep, I spent the rest of the day working on the Grail."

"Working on the Grail?"

"The director already informed you about Idmund Versailles, did he not? I'm not sure how many Servants he's already summoned, or how powerful they are, but we won't stand a chance unless we summon more of our own."

"There's a bit of a problem with your plan, Ruler. I know that we really need more Servants, but I'm not sure if I have the mana to support anymore. I can barely support the one we have."

This was the biggest wrench in Ruler's plans. Shirou could fare better against a Servant than most magi, but he was still third-rate in every category save for his extremely niche specialization. Him supporting more than one Servant was impossible.

Ruler sighed. Her options kept thinning by the day. Shirou saw her trepidation and reassured her.

"Thank you, Shirou, but don't worry. I'll just have to keep thinking and find another way."

He smiled. Having finished his brief visit, he was about to leave, but a sudden thought occurred to him first.

"Hey, Ruler. ...Where's Mordred?"

* * *

 **|||~I~|||**

* * *

Normally, Servants remained unmaterialized until battle began. And yet, there she stood in the garden of the little cloister of the Westminster Abbey. It was night, but still; a bit more discretion could have been shown.

"Mordred."

The knight turned to face Shirou as he entered the cloister. He paused for a moment after making eye-contact. They really were too similar. Actually, it went beyond that. Similar would have been between Saber and Ruler. Mordred's face was completely like her's, right down to the shade of her eyes.

 **Mordred** \- that was her identity. The Knight of Treachery and illegitimate " _son_ " of Arthur Pendragon, who managed to bring him and the sagas of his Knights of the Round Table to ruin.

Mordred had been to King Arthur what Judas had been to Christ, and Brutus to Caesar - a villain who brought a prominent figure and his legend to a bloody end through an act of betrayal. Shirou knew her legacy well... Though, he never expected her gender to be distorted just like her " _father's_ " had.

"You finally showed up, Master. Have you any idea how restless I've been, sitting in this blasted church all day? All Ruler did after we came here was sleep."

Shirou noticed a strange inconsistency in how Mordred addressed her separate Masters.

"Why do call Ruler by her name, but call me 'Master?'"

"Ruler suggested I do so. Though she holds my Command Seals, she claims that her duty as the Grail's standard-bearer comes before all else. That leaves you as my primary Master. Would you rather I call you Shirou?"

"No. Do whatever you feel like."

Though, it _was_ odd how quickly Ruler surrendered all authorities as a Master. Dealing with the Grail must be taking up more of her time than he thought. She would have likely gave Shirou her Command Seals if she could.

Much like Ruler as well, Mordred was not wearing the same attire she had the previous night. Her armor was gone, replaced with some very... _interesting_ clothing.

"Uh... Mordred. Where did you get that outfit?"

"Oh, this? That giant of a priest named Eli bought it for me when I asked him to."

"Father Eli bought you those clothes?!"

"Yes. Is something wrong with them?"

Shirou didn't know where to begin. Though, the amount of skin on display would be a good start, followed by the fact that it was the most unwholesome outfit he could think of a priest buying for someone else.

He shook his head.

"I can't believe you turned out to be a girl too..."

"...Do not say that again."

"Hmm?"

"If you call me a woman one more time, even if you are my Master... I won't be able to control myself."

Such hostility... Even Artoria didn't show such disdain for her true sex. Sensing that he was stepping into dangerous territory, Shirou wisely backed off.

"S-sorry, Mordred... I'll be more careful."

The knight calmed herself. Honestly, it was one thing for her to not want Shirou to call her woman, but she could have at least did something about her wardrobe. It certainly wasn't _men's_ wear.

"Master, how long do you plan to keep doing that?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You keep referring to me by my true name? Isn't a large part of the Holy Grail war based around keeping your Servant's identity a secret?"

"Oh, yeah. Well... I was a participant in the last Holy Grail War, and the Servant I summoned was a Saber then too. Calling another person Saber just feels...weird."

"I see... Well, it matters little. Unlike other Heroic Spirits I have no major weakness to exploit. Not knowing my name would have just spared my opponents an extra moment of fear before I cut them down."

Such arrogance. It was unseemly for a knight, especially one from the fabled Round Table. How could someone who looked so much like Saber, be her polar opposite? How could Saber's own " _son_ " have been the one to kill her? When Mordred revealed her identity at the abbey, Ruler had asked why she had been the one who was summoned.

 _\- Of course I turned out to be one you summoned. Who else would appear over King Arthur's tomb than the knight who put him there? -_

That was her response.

"Say, Master. What was the identity of the Servant you summoned in the last war?"

"...Why do you want to know?"

"Idle curiosity. I already know that, whomever they were, they are inferior to your new Servant, but still - won't you humor me?"

Glossing over the question would have been the best choice. Mordred would have been annoyed, but she would have gotten over it eventually. Nothing good would come from her knowing Saber's identity.

And yet...

" **King Arthur** \- that's the Servant I fought beside in the previous Holy Grail War."

It was a malignant look if Shirou ever saw one. The blank expression in Mordred's eyes were equal parts shock and awe.

"...So, that was what the smell was."

"Huh?"

"I thought it was just my nose playing tricks, but I couldn't stop noticing. You smell just like Father's sword... [ **Excalibur** ]'s scent - you _reek_ of it...!"

Before Shirou could even process what Mordred was saying, she materialized her sword and armor, then swung the former at Shirou's neck. There was no time for self-defense, no time for Projection. He was just dead - simple as that.

Yet, barely a centimeter from his neck, Mordred's stolen sword, [ **Clarent** ], stopped. The air near Shirou's face blew like a sudden gust, even making the grass on the ground flutter.

"Father or myself - who is stronger?" Mordred asked.

It wasn't Shirou's head Mordred was aiming for, but a comparison between her and her father's strength.

"...You're faster, but Saber was summoned in Japan, not Britain. I don't know if you'd still be the faster one if she had been summoned here."

It was honesty that could have easily cost Shirou his life. How surprised he was when Mordred lowered her sword.

"Ruler was talking earlier about how we need to summon more Servants to fight this Idmund. What nonsense! I'm the only Servant that's needed! Two-on-one, five-on-one, seven-on-one; it matters not. I'll win this Grail War single-handedly. Watch me, Master. I will put any feat my father showed you to shame!"

Mordred marched off without another word, her armor vanishing into golden specks as she exited the cloister's garden. Despite the sword not even touching him, Shirou's neck still throbbed. Being summoned in Britain had definitely augmented her strength. And now that she knew that her current Master was previously Father's previous one, she was lit up like nothing else.

It was less akin to enthusiasm, than it was to fire being lit in a dragon's belly.

"I should have just kept my mouth shut..."

After voicing his regret, Shirou left Westminster Abbey; returning to his dormitory for the night. Hopefully his neck would feel less sore when he woke up the next morning.

* * *

 **|||~I~|||**

* * *

Pathetic. Simply pathetic. This went beyond any excuse the failure in front of them could provide.

Idmund had bestowed onto her the ultimate privilege: Being the Master of Saber. Sabers boasted all-around excellent stats, as well as [Magic Resistance] that made them nigh invincible when facing magi. In every Holy Grail War, a Saber had been among the final two Servants standing. Thus, it was no exaggeration to call them the "best class."

And yet, Idmund had allowed this lowborn magus - this disgrace - to summon Saber, against every protest Everitt Bannistor gave. Like a child being scolded, the magus in question stood before them with her head down.

"You only had one job: Retrieve the Lesser Grail and eliminate Ruler. You couldn't even accomplish something _that_ simple," Everitt hissed.

"Saber was the one who went after-"

"Saber - _Your_ Servant! Any failing he showed is only a reflection of how incompetent his Master is! You should have never been granted the privilege of summoning him. Even Shywood would have made a better choice than you."

"Everitt, that's enough. We can't linger on what couldn't be done. Let's just relieve ourselves in the fact that one of our Servants was not defeated before the true battle even began."

And just like that, she was forgiven - all at the charity of Idmund. Charity which was rarely ever shown, yet was regularly extended to the ex-Atlas researcher, Sialim Eltnam Re-Atlasia. Still poised in his seat, Idmund commanded Sialim to raise her head.

"I'm sorry that Saber and I failed, my Lord."

"Nonsense. You didn't manage to kill Ruler or retake the Grail, but Saber gathered some very potent information, did he not? Is it true Ruler managed to summon a Servant with the Lesser Grail?"

"Yes, my Lord."

For once, Everitt was bothered by something Sialim said, rather than Sialim herself.

"That shouldn't have been possible... Our Ruler sabotaged the Lesser Grail. There shouldn't have been a way for her to use it."

"You're wrong."

Sialim said this with cold satisfaction resounding in her words. She then continued.

"While on the run from Saber, Ruler met a magus who she later made a contract with. With him providing the mana and her holding the Command Seals, they managed to utilize the Grail. It was detail we didn't account for."

"Ruler crossing paths with a magus in London is far from strange. What this particular magus is made of is a different story, however," said Idmund. "Is it true that he managed to fight against your Saber in close-quarters, Sialim?"

"Yes, my Lord."

It was natural for Everitt to think that she had misheard something. There didn't exist a magus in London who could match a Heroic Spirit in a duel.

"Saber was never in any actual danger, of course. However, he was held up for nearly three minutes."

"And the magus he fought _lived_?"

Sialim nodded. "And even more surprising is the Servant Ruler and this magus managed to summon. He called himself: _The disgrace of Camelot._ "

Everitt was in complete awe. A Knight of Round Table was summoned? Combining his fame, base stats, along with the boon he would have received for being summoned in Britain, it's no wonder Saber was beaten so handedly. In spite of this alarming news, Idmund kept his composure. Not a single strand of dark hair fell out of place, nor did his refined features betray him.

"Calm down, Everitt. One Servant, regardless of their strength, will not make a difference once we summoned the rest of our own. Sialim, have prepared for the ritual?"

"Yes, my Lord. Everything is ready for tomorrow."

"Wouldn't it be better if we did it tonight, Idmund? Now that Ruler's made a contract, she could always summon another Servant."

"Unlikely. Unlike us, she has no way to mitigate the problem of mana supplication. Unless the magus she made a contract with has an inhuman amount of mana, they won't be summoning anymore Servants anytime soon. Besides, the Black Grail won't be ready until tomorrow, anyway."

The **Black Grail** \- the Grail Idmund had personally prepared for this war. How he acquired it and managed to trigger a new Grail War merely two years after the previous one was a mystery not even Everitt knew the answer to.

"I suspect that Ruler is with the Grail as usual?" she asked.

"But of course. It's only natural for the Grail's standard-bearer to be so overprotective of it. This is also the reason **Joan of Arc** will go to such dire strates to protect the Grail she possesses."

"Do you want me to try and retrieve the Lesser Grail again, my Lord?"

"No. It's likely the directors at the Clock Tower have already found a safe haven for both the Grail and Ruler. Trying to pursue either would be more trouble than we currently can be bothered with. Just focus on tomorrow's ritual."

Sialim nodded and dismissed herself, leaving Idmund alone with Everitt. Standing, he approached a window. Idmund's mansion rested on a hill that overlooked London, providing a perfect view he occasionally gazed at. He almost felt remorseful bringing war to such a beautiful city.

At the moment, his faction possessed three Servants - Saber, Rider and Berserker. The Master of Berserker had made themselves scarce afterwards, claiming that they would contact Idmund once the fighting began. He was fine with that. Their fighting strength was all he concerned with. Also, he knew that the future Masters of Lancer, Archer and Caster would all be attendance for the mass summoning that would take place tomorrow.

There was only one loose end.

"Will Tideman show up tomorrow?" Everitt asked, seeming to read his thoughts.

"Probably not. I haven't heard from him since our initial meetings."

"Do you think he'll turn traitor and give information to the Clock Tower?"

"That I know he won't do. Not out of loyalty, obviously. If he plans to forget about our cause then he'll simply do just that: Forget about us, and move on. That simple nature of his is one of the reasons he's so easy to deal with."

"I still don't like that you recruited him."

Henriette Otto von Tideman was the one person within their faction who Everitt despised more than Sialim.

"Losing him would be too big of a loss for us. The catalyst he possesses surpasses any of the ones I obtained from Clock Tower."

This fact only made Everitt hate Tideman more. How could somebody like him have gotten their hands on such a rare catalyst? She sighed, knowing all they could do was hope. Sensing their conversation was finished, Everitt headed for the door. Idmund continued gazing at his view of London - the future stage for his coup d'etat.

Very soon he would bring the Clock Tower to its knees.


	3. Chap 3 - Unrequited Love

**Chapter 3: Unrequited Love**

-:- _The 3rd Night_ -:-

* * *

Laying before Shirou that morning was a mat lined with weapons, each containing enough mystery to be considered a treasure. They were mere copies, however, projected by Shirou himself. Their quality was still high, much more so than anything the average magus in the Clock Tower could produce with Gradient Air, but a fake was still a fake. None of the weapons on the mat could ever surpass the original; which was all the more reason Shirou practiced this forgery on a daily basis.

Projection training had become a routine for him, something he did everyday within the same time frame without fail. It was something he did when he had nothing better to do. It only took the week Rin spent abroad for Shirou to realize how slow his mornings were without her.

The past two nights revolved around his involvement with the this new Grail War, and he spent almost all of his downtown in-between sleeping. This morning though, he was awake and finally truly taking note of her absence. He would had attempted to call again, but it she hadn't responded to the first three missing calls, the chances of the fourth being the charm were low.

Once the mat was full, all the projections on it vanished, and Shirou started from the beginning again. Knocking at his door interrupted him.

He answered to find a hooded figure was standing behind its frame.

"Shirou Emiya?"

The word "mysterious" was fuming off this person in waves. Even most of her face hidden underneath her hood. Shirou couldn't remember ever crossing paths with someone like this during his past few months in the the Clock Tower. Was she even a student?

"Yeah, that's me," he answered.

"My master told me to deliver this to you."

She held a rather thick folder up to his face. It must have been the information on Idmund and his faction that Shirou was told he would receive. Honestly, he hadn't suspected it to be delivered so quickly. As soon as the folder exchanged hands, the hooded girl nodded then went about her way. Shirou almost called out to her, but he resisted, a strange sense of circumspection kept him from doing so.

It mattered little, for this was not the last time Shirou Emiya and this person would meet.

The second he shut the door, he started going through the files. Five individuals were featured in it: Their backgrounds, lineages, magic crests and circuits, appearances and schools of Magecraft they specialized in were all listed within. It was so cohesive and in-depth, it was tough to think it only took a day for it all to be compiled.

 _'That Bram guy is amazing..'_ Shirou thought.

Only two Masters were missing from compilation. Apparently, neither of these two had anything to do with the Clocktower, thus information regarding them was scarce. The mystery made Shirou ponder for a while.

While skimming through the files at his table, more knocking came from his door. This time accompanied by a familiar voice.

"Sherou, are you in?"

"Luvia?"

It was Shirou's old employer, Luviagelita Edelfelt, who turned out to be his second visitor that morning. Strange, considering she had never done it before. Although, the absence of a certain _someone_ might have influenced her visit.

"Good morning, Sherou. Miss Tohsaka isn't with you this morning?"

"No. She still hasn't returned from Germany."

"Is that so... You must be terribly lonely every morning. It would be cruel to just leave you here by yourself today."

Before he could tell her otherwise, Luvia had already let herself in against his wishes. Sitting at the table in his room, she asked if he was making any tea that morning, to which he knew he only had one response.

 _'Do she and Rin even realize how alike they are?'_ he wondered while retrieving tea mix from his cabinets.

It was only when he started the stove did Shirou realize that he had left the folder on the table. Before he could curse his own negligence, Luvia asked him "Sherou, are these the files concerning Idmund Versailles and his lot of traitors?"

He nearly dropped bag he was holding.

"Luvia... How did you-"

"Idmund's clan may be fairly low on the totem pole, but they are still Lords. Their head defecting from the Association and declaring war upon Clock Tower is not something the other distinguished families in Clock Tower wouldn't hear about."

News of Idmund's coup was spreading quicker than Shirou expected. It was only among the Lords and upper-echelon like Luvia's clan, but still.

"Would you mind if I digged through these for a bit?"

Luvia tapped the folders while she spoke.

Somewhat reluctantly, he shrugged. If she already knew about the war and Idmund, nothing in that folder would be especially startling news to her. With his permission, Luvia opening open and started flipping through files of the apostate magi.

Nothing particularly shocked her. She had long knew of Idmund Versailles prowess in spiritual evocation. His lectures on it were considered superb, and Idmund was known for practicing what he preached. Also predictable was Everitt Banistor's name. A practitioner of Elemental Magecraft, she had always been notoriously known for her hatred of the Lords, which made it a bit odd while she would join Idmund who descended from the lowliest Lords in Clock Tower.

In Luvia's opinion, _envy_ was a much more suitable word. The Banistors were among the families who first helped in the establishment of the Clock Tower in London centuries ago, and this fact gave them a sense of massive entitlement. In their eyes, they were among the institution's "Founding Fathers", and deserved to be revered as such. And yet, they never joined the ranks of the Lords who governed it.

Seeing Jêdrzejski Radzimir's name was far more strange than shocking. His lineage was one of dwindling potential with each generation becoming weaker than the last. Their clan's magic had degenerated so much that, despite already having grandchildren, Radzimir still wielded his clan's magic crest as none of the heirs were fit to inherit it. None of that explained why he would want to go to war with the Clock Tower. Surely, the only thing he had to blame for his clan's impending demise was its own blood.

Only at the fourth name did Luvia felt a tinge of surprise. All the pictures thus far had been familiar, but only this one Luvia had seen personally. Sayla Shywood. Fitting for her name, she was a withdrawn girl who's - once again, in Luvia's opinion - modesty kept her true talents with Formalcraft from shining. Luvia knew for a fact that the Shywood clan had never had any issues with Clock Tower, the Lords or even the Mage's Association itself. Just what would motivate a girl like Sayla to ally herself with Idmund?

Luviagelita scrambled thoughts untangled somewhat when Shirou brought her some hot tea.

"I made it how you always said you liked it back at the mansion," he said.

"Ah... It's absolutely wonderful, Sherou! Honestly, when are going to-"

Merely a single glance at the fifth magi's name alone almost made Luvia spill her cup.

She scowled severely. When she read _his_ name and saw _his_ photo, the muscles in her face flexed involuntarily. Had she not been Shirou's presence, her cup would already have been in pieces on the floor.

"...Luvia? Are alright."

"Of all the magi he could have recruited, he just had to turn to _him_... Just how low are you willing to sink, Idmund Versailles?"

Peering over Luvia's shoulder, Shirou saw the name she was glaring at and read it to himself.

 _'Henriette Otto von Tideman...?'_

* * *

 **|||~I~|||**

* * *

"Is it that dark already...?"

Bridget had never meant to fall asleep in Henriette's bed that night. Then again, she had not meant to spend the entire day at his home either. His habit of disrupting her plans was something she found charming as much she did annoying.

Waking up with most her clothes gone, she could hear the spray of a shower coming from the bathroom.

 _'I guess I'll go in next...'_ she thought while gazing out her the window.

Of all the houses she had ever spent the night in, this one was by far the most glamorous. It bordered on being a mansion, practically. Normally, the only reason she should have been in it, was if she was leaving with some cash in her hand afterwards.

She yawned. "What time is it?"

Not seeing a clock in the room, and with her own phone on a dresser on the other side of the room, Bridget settled for using Henriette's to tell the time. The first thing she saw when she turned it on was his wallpaper - it was the face of a girl she didn't know. There was no anger and barely any jealousy, though Bridget was fairly curious.

 _'...I didn't know he was into Asian girls.'_

Her brown hair bunched up on one side, and her blue eyes were so clear, a small glint which was actually photographer's reflection could be seen in them. This girl was beautiful.

"Hey! What are doing?!" Henriette exclaimed.

Fresh out of the shower with only towel covering, he looked flustered. Apparently, Bridget had seen something she wasn't supposed to. He rushed from the bathroom to steal back his phone, but she casually pulled it out of his reach.

"So, you're into the oriental, eh?"

"S-shut up, and give me back my phone!"

Henriette flailed his arms about hopelessly trying to retrieve his property. His bed was simply too large, and made it easy for Bridget to get of his reach.

"Man... She's really cute. Is she rich too? And here I thought you only went for tramps from the slums."

She was referring to herself, of course. As if to damage her own self-esteem before others could a get a chance, Bridget constantly put herself down in front of Henry. He was, without a doubt, from the highest of the upper-class - the 1% of the 1%. That she could even spend tonight at this castle he called his home without threat of getting kicked onto to the street like a dog was miraculous to her.

"C'mon, just give it back already...!"

She stuck her tongue out at him. "No."

She always loved how adorable Henriette was when was whining. At times, it was like he was ten year old trapped in a twenty year old's body.

Having finally had enough of Bridget's shenanigans, he mounted her and pinned her down. Or so he tried, at least. For a girl, Bridget revealed to be surprisingly strong. Easily, she reversed their positions, making her the one on top.

"You really think you're the first guy to try to hold me down, Henry?"

Her boyfriend was basically sulking now. Getting back his phone was all he cared about.

"So, why haven't you asked her out yet?"

"Wha-? Because I'm already seeing you..."

"Shut up, and be honest: Why haven't you?"

"..."

Henry sat up with Bridget still atop him. "I tried to once about a year ago when she came to London for a short visit, and she shot me down."

"Did she ever come back to London?"

"Yeah... With her boyfriend."

Henry sighed so heavily, a few strands of Bridget's hair were whirred. He was quick to whine and prone to being emotional, but he never looked so downtrodden before. She guessed that even if she left him, he wouldn't be so depressed as he was over the wallpaper on his phone.

And it was so frustrating...

Was she really that shut out from him? Bridget had never expected fairytale - the handsome prince sweeping the downtrodden impoverished girl from her miserable lifestyle - but at the very least, she didn't think she would lose another guy's girlfriend.

She meant nothing to him. The month and a half that had passed since they met meant nothing to him. Likely, the fact she was regularly spending the night in his bed meant nothing to him. Bridget was just a girl replacing the one Henriette couldn't have.

Glaring at the image on the phone, her bitterness crept up.

"She's not even that cute..."

Despite having just said herself she was beautiful, those words escaped from her mouth. One thing Bridget had always prized herself on was not being a bitter woman, but tonight something in her stomach just wouldn't allow it.

"...What did you say?"

"Nothing. I'm sorry. Just for... _Ghe-!_ "

Henry had always been good with his hands. Despite being wealthy, he was pro with the kitchen. And as a lover, he always knew exactly what to wrap his fingers around. Bridget's throat had never been one those places before.

"H-Henry...Hen-"

His hands were taut around her neck. She could feel her windpipe being crushed by his thumbs while his fingers dug into the nape of her neck. Henriette wasn't supposed to be this strong. He couldn't even hold her down properly. Then why couldn't she breathe? Why were her bulging eyes getting blurrier? Why was she drooling while she gagged? Why was Henry looking at her like that?

His face wasn't playful anymore. Mulled rage were all she could find in his cloudy eyes.

"She didn't do anything to you, so why would you say something like about her? How could you...?"

He asked such innocent questions while his fingers dug deeper. Bridget scratched at his arms relentlessly.

"Hen...H-Hen..."

Then, suddenly, the scratching stopped. Bridget's arms went limp. Where Henriette's fingers had squeezed were still visible after he let her drop onto the mattress, ahe expression, a mix of anguish and panic, stayed stuck on her face.

"...Ah! Oh, no... I did it again. Weiss!"

Almost immediately, a maid revealed herself. This entire time, she had been waiting outside of Henriette's room, knowing she would be called at some point. Her features were flawless. They would be, of course, being she was an artificial creation. Any magus that wasn't from the backwater could tell she was a homunculus.

"Is there something you need, Master?"

Henriette gestured at Bridget's body while picking his phone up.

"...You broke another one, it seems."

"I guess I sort of lost it for a second. ...Wait! Weiss, what time is it?!"

"It's approaching midnight."

"Ah, no! I was supposed to be at Idmund's tonight... Everitt and the others must be fuming."

Like a child who had forgotten to perform his chores, the blonde magus became flustered. After a while, he counted his losses and shrugged. Crying over spilled milk did him no good. Besides, just because he wasn't performing the rituals with others tonight didn't mean he couldn't perform it by himself. Not to mention, he now had some good material at hand.

"This might actually be good timing. Weiss, take Bri... Bre... Uh..."

"Bridget, Master."

"Yes. Take her to my Workshop. I'll be there once I get dressed."

Weiss nodded obediently. Once her master left the room, however, she looked upon the girl with with melancholy. Bridget was not a starkingly unique name, but she herself was. Despite having been raised with the slums, she carried herself with more flare than any girl of the upperclass. That, unfortunately, had drawn Henriette to her like a moth drawn to a flame. The girls he managed to attract all shared the fate of having their flames doused.

Of the six girls he had dated in the past four months, Bridget was the one she had grown the most fond of.

 _'Master... when will you stop with this disturbing hobby of yours_ _,'_ she wondered.

After sparing a few moments to mourn for the girl, she carried her off to the Workshop. Its location was in the very house Henriette stayed in while he studied at the Clock Tower. It was a flawless abode located in Kensington Square; a house that even Henriette's neighbors had to admire. He cared little for it though. Only two places within the home did he regularly spend his time: His bedroom at the highest floor, and his Workshop in the basement. The latter was also where the women unfortunate enough to be courted by him ended up.

Heinous. Abominable. Utterly repugnant - any of these could be used to describe the basement Henriette had transferred into his Workshop.

Only an individual without the slightest drop of human empathy would ever practice magecraft in such a facility, let alone be the one who constructed it. Humanity wasn't even factor a factor. Even by the low standards of a magus and the even lower standards of a necromancer, the Workshop's very existence was by itself a crime against humanity.

Dried blood dirtied the floors. Human appendages - almost all female - were stuffed into containers and jars. Effigies and idols made from flesh stood on tables and hung from the ceiling like decorations; none of them having any practical use. They merely "projects" Henriette taken up in his meantime.

In this pit of horrors, only one place was not completely repugnant. It was a single wall. Plastered over it were numerous pictures of young women. Though they all came from different backgrounds and classes, each one was a beauty in her own right. Several photos had X's marked over them, however. Those were the girls Henriette had already "met." Weiss was certain that, if she searched hard enough, she would find something left of them in this Workshop.

Though the photos numbered in the hundreds only one of them had multiples. It was the same girl on Henriette's phone.

Some pictures had her smiling, others had her looking idle, and a rare few snapshots caught her while she was pouting. At least 50% of the wall was occupied by her face alone.

"Good job carrying her down here, Weiss," Henriette said when he arrived.

Not only was he was dressed, he was also carrying a small box under his arm. After having Weiss to hold it, he retrieved a knife and bowl from where his tools were located. Placing the latter under Bridget's limp wrist, he slit it and watched as the bowl slowly filled with her blood.

Once enough had been gathered, he set the knife down and dipped his fingers in. Like a young boy in nursery school, he began to finger paint a conjuring ward on the floor using Bridget's blood, humming all the while.

"That should do it."

There was only one thing left - his catalyst. Weiss brought it over after he gestured her too. She knew well what was inside the small box. Wrapped in a plain cloth, it was a knife - a cheap, shoddy one, that would have been worth pennies even in era it was created. And yet, it was easily the most valuable catalyst anyone in Idmund's faction possessed. Even Idmund himself had no idea how Henriette acquired it.

Though, it made perfect sense to Weiss that someone like her master would come to own such a thing.

Using it to make an incision in Bridget's stomach, the necromancer hid the knife inside, this act being the final preparation for his ritual. He then commanded Weiss to stand back again.

Henriette chanted...

 _ **Fill. Fill. Fill. Fill. Fill.**_

 _ **Let each be turned over five times, simply breaking asunder the fulfilled time...**_

* * *

 **|||~I~|||**

* * *

"Tideman is late."

It was statement that surprised no one. Neither of the other two magi in Idmund's garden with Everitt that night had expected Henriette to show up any more than she had. And yet, sitting between the three of them was enormous conjuring ward, especially constructed by Sialim, meant to summon four Servants simultaneously.

"It seems Sialim had more hope for Henriette than we ourselves did," Radzimir said.

In spite of his age, the old magus stood with his back straight and strong. Even his head and facial hair, which had nearly been completely consumed by gray, were combed back respectfully. Held behind his back were old sheets that, much like him, were weathered and aged.

They were his catalyst to tonight's ritual. Compared to Everitt who had used a shield, she wondered what Servant the old man planned on summoning with mere paper.

"Patience, Everitt. Patience," he said.

A dismissive shrug was all she could give him.

There was another in the garden who wasn't taking part in the conversation. Rather, she sat at the foot of the stairs leading up to rear entrance of Idmund's mansion, The nicked arrow she was using as her catalyst received more attention from her than fellow magi. Then again, aside from being a magus, there was not much else she had in common with the heiress of the Banistor clan or head or the Radzimir. She was no clan head, nor was she an heir. She was a fourth child, in fact. The leadership of her clan couldn't have been any further from her.

"Are you getting cold feet, Shywood?"

Sayla meekly glanced in Everitt's direction. She could never been able to hold a conversation with her like Idmund or Radzimir. Neither could she withstand her harshness like Sialim.

"...Backing out isn't an option for me, Everitt. You know it isn't, and so does Idmund. Going through with this is all I have, now."

"So I'm supposed to take your lack of options as loyalty, then?"

A tiresome sigh from the top of the stairs was heard.

"Is it simply a trait of the Banistor clan to be critical of others, I wonder?"

Idmund Versailles stood had finally arrived. Even in the dark of night, his figure was easily discernible. Sialim had also arrived with him. Likely, a discussion between the two had held Idmund up.

Her status as his primary confidant bothered Everitt, but she bit her tongue. She couldn't speak ill of her tonight. The ritual they were about to perform would not have been possible if not for her.

Altas did not bestow the name "Atlasia" freely. Only the most venerated of alchemists could bear the title - taking on the role of representative of the institution. That she held the name symbolized that she once stood at the top of Atlas. Even the heiress of the Banister family could not deny that Sialim Eltnam Re-Atlasia was a genius at her craft.

"Well, shall we get started?"

 _It's about time, Idmund. All this waiting's been keeping me in suspense._

Right beside the magus, the owner of the disembodied voice materialized themselves. A large scar spanned across her face, and the tails of her naval coat fluttered. This was the Servant Idmund has summoned himself. The Servant of the mount, Rider.

"Are you really that eager to see the other Servants, Rider? To be completely honest, I believe that you could win this war on your own."

"Hmph. That's a lot of hope you pitting on my shoulders. Where's all this confidence stemming from anyway?"

"The fact that I'm your Master, of course."

Rider snorted. "I swear, that overconfidence of yours reminds me of Her Highness from time to time."

"Coming from _El Draque_ , that is quite the compliment."

 _El Draque_ , Spanish for "the Dragon". Only one figure in the Elizabethan Era inspired so much fear in Spain to be called such - **Francis Drake.**

A name that struck fear throughout all of Spain during the reign of Queen Elizabeth I. Pirate slaver turned privateer under the monarch's hire, Drake's numerous raids against spanish ports restored confidence in England during the Hundred Years War. Her greatest feat, which would earn her the title of _El Draque_ as well as knighthood, was her defeat of the Invincible Spanish Armada - one of the greatest naval accomplishments in the history of Great Britain. Having secured its seas, she is one the most prominent factors as to why the Elizabethan Era is known as the greatest period in British history.

She was also the reason Idmund kept his calm when he heard Ruler had summoned a Knight of the Round Table. While he never expected a Servant separate from his own faction to be summoned, he had still made sure to keep an ace in the hole. As a national hero, Drake would receive a boon to her power equal or even greater than this "Disgrace of Camelot." Even Bram was unaware of her, for her catalyst was not among those Idmund had stolen from the Clock Tower, but rather one Sialim had acquired for him long before: An astrolabe Drake used for navigation on her ship.

"Has Henriette arrived?" Idmund asked.

"It's already midnight. It's quite obvious that he doesn't plan to show," said Radzimir.

"Disappointing...but can't delay any further. We'll just how to start without him."

Rider grinned while leaning on the rails. She was the most excited concerning the ritual. As the captain of the voyage Idmund had chartered, she was looking forward to seeing what mates he had prepared for her.

"Come on, Idmund! Start the ritual!"

Idmund smiled at his Servant's enthusiasm, then gestured to the trio in the garden to begin. Around the giant ward Sialim had composed, they chanted in harmony...

 _ **Fill. Fill. Fill. Fill. Fill.**_

 _ **Let each be turned over five times, simply breaking asunder the fulfilled time.**_

 _ **Let silver and steel be the essence.**_

 _ **Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation.**_

 _ **Let Idmund Versailles**_ _ **be the baron we offer fealty**_

 _ **Let rise a wall against the wind that shall fall.**_

 _ **Let the four cardinal gates close.**_

 _ **Let the three-forked road from the crown reaching unto the Kingdom rotate.**_

None had practiced this chant together before this night, but they all spoke in synchronization. As it was natural for them to.

When the first verse concluded, three of the lesser wards glowed. Mana immediately assaulted the chanters, though they all stood firm and continued.

 _ **Let it be declared now;**_

 _ **your flesh shall serve under me, and my fate shall be with your sword.**_

 _ **Submit to the beckoning of the Holy Grail.**_

 _ **Answer, if you would submit to this will and this truth.**_

Those who stood atop the [Throne] were now being called. The magic circuits of the trio raced as the incantation reached its third and final verse.

 _ **An oath shall be sworn here.**_

 _ **I shall attain all virtues of all of Heaven;**_

 _ **I shall have dominion over all evils of all of Hell.**_

 _ **From the Seventh Heaven, attended to by three great words of power,**_

 _ **come forth from the ring of restraint, protector of the holy balance!**_

The three of the lesser wards erupted with blinding light. The entire rear of Idmund's mansion was consumed. Everyone shielded their eyes from its brilliance save for Idmund himself and Rider, who simply let it wash over them. When the light finally waned, three figures stood where the ward once had.

The visitors from the [Throne] had arrived.

The tallest among them was also easily the most intimidating, his golden, plumed helmet obscuring his face. Simply going from the spear and shield he held, his class was obvious.

The same went for the brown-skinned Servant holding a crimson bow. His features were all brimming with life.

The final Servant was more of a mystery as he held no weapon and wore finery instead of armor.

Together, all three Servants faced Idmund and Rider then bowed their heads.

"Under our oath to the **Black Grail** \- we swear our loyalty to Idmund Versailles. Your will is our will, and it shall be the banner for which we spill and shed blood," they said in harmony.

It was only natural that they swore themselves to Idmund. To be participants in this war, they had to first agree to conditions that had been laid before them: To fight for the cause of the traitorous magi.

"Alright. Let's hear some names, men," Rider instructed.

Archer was the first to reveal his identity.

"I am the servant of the bow, Archer. My true name is **Arash**. "

A legendary Archer from Persian folklore, he was said to have saved tens of thousands of lives when he ended a 60-year conflict between the Persians and Turks with a single arrow.

When revealing his true name, the tall warrior removed his helmet, revealing a steely-eyed man who seemed to be in his early thirties.

"Lancer. ...My true name is **Leonidas**."

Historians revered this man's feats to this very day. At the Battle of Thermopylae, his 300 spartans and their Thespian allies fought to the last man against the Persian forces of King Xerxes who heavily outnumbered them. Of all of the Servant's Idmund's faction had summoned, his was easily the most galiant.

Finally, there was the mystery Servant. Despite all eyes lingering on him, he disregarded everything concerning his surroundings. Trapped in his own little world, his hands made eccentric motions, weaving patterns through the air like sign language only he understood.

"Caster!" Radzimir exclaimed.

"Ah... You already know my class. Is it fair to ascern that you are my Master, then?"

"Yes. My name is Jêdrzejski Radzimir, and I used some of your compositions as a catalyst for your summoning."

"I suppose I did leave quite a bit of unfinished work behind. One of my few regrets is that I could not write more during my lifetime."

Listening to the Servant babble sophistry got tiresome very quickly for Everitt.

"Radzimir! Is he going to reveal his identity or not?"

Caster looked upon the annoyed magus, unable to discern what had agitated her. It would seem that Radzimir clan's head had summoned a somewhat troublesome Servant.

"Honestly, I have no idea how I reached the [Throne] at all. I don't remember doing anything worthy of being deemed a Heroic Spirit, and my combat skills are virtually nonexistent. ...Oh, well. No use musing over such things. You may call me Caster, though my true name is **Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart**."

One of greatest musical composers of all time. His works, which ranged from epic symphonies to vocalized operas, have traveled the globe long after his death; influencing generation after generation of composers who came after him. To call him the greatest musical genius in history would not be an exaggeration; it was simply fact.

"...A musician?"

The historic figure Radzimir summoned had Everitt baffled. Why would he bother making a contract with such Servant? Even the magi of Clock Tower possessed the means to defeat such a weak Heroic Spirit.

"I can tell from the look on your face that you've already deemed my Servant as useless, Everitt," Radzimir told her.

"Am I wrong?"

"You're presumptuous, at the very least. Caster's parameters may not what you would normally expect of a Servant, but his Noble Phantasm is where his true values lie."

Although curious about how "valuable" this Noble Phantasm of Caster's truly was, the sudden arrival of Sialim's Saber disrupted her thoughts.

"Saber? How are Ruler and the Grail doing?" Sialim asked.

"Agreeable, Master. They also gave me news to bring: Assassin has been summoned."

Even if one included the multiple summoning ritual they had just performed - the first of its kind, even - _this_ was the most shocking event to have occurred tonight. Henriette had actually followed through with the plan. Idmund could not help but smile.

They now had seven. They couldn't count Ruler, for the standard-bearer was only interested in watching over the Grail. It mattered little. Seven was already plenty - more than enough to go war with the Clock Tower.

"All that leaves is for us to deal with **Joan of Arc** and her Servant," Idmund said.

Saber winced.

"Lord Idmund... Please, do not refer to that deceitful witch who stole Jeanne's identity as such. She only exists to corrupt the Grail and its Holy War. She must be slain as quickly as possible before she can further disrupt our cause."

Sialim lowered her head as her Servant spoke. Ever since she had summoned him, he had been obsessed with this falsehood. There was no doubt that the identity of the Ruler who stole the Lesser Grail from them was Joan of Arc, and yet...

"Of course. Forgive my oversight, Saber. I agree that the witch who disguises herself as Joan of Arc must be slain as soon as possible."

Saber nodded in agreement, then dematerialized himself.

"Are we off to war then?" Lancer asked.

Despite having just been conjured, Lancer was already braced for combat; as was fitting for a Spartan king. Everitt, however, would have none of it.

"Settle down, Lancer. We still have loose ends to take care of before the fighting starts."

"...Tell me woman, are my Master?"

"Problem?"

"None. Warfare goes smoothly when command is strict and lucent. Your order is my law. If you say we need more planning before we strike, so be it."

Everitt folded her arms, satisfied by her Servant's hasty conformity.

"Wonderful. Idmund, is our business for tonight done?"

Upon receiving an answer, Everitt turned in for the night, her Servant dematerializing as headed back into Idmund's mansion.

"Shall we go as well, Caster? ...Caster?"

Once again, the famed composer, found himself trapped in the image of an imaginary symphony, completely barred off from reality or his Master's words.

"Caster!"

"Hmm? Ah, yes. Let us turn return, Master. Though, I would request you allow me to stay materialized. I am afraid I will not be able to quell my muse this night."

"That is... fine. Do as wish."

Honestly, nothing short of a Command Seal would have stopped Caster from trying to compose anyway. He was hopeless in that fashion, but thankfully, his compositions happened to be exactly what Idmund and Radzimir had sought to summon him for.

With two Masters taken, it was a simple task for Archer to discern who his was.

"My name is Sayla Shywood. ...Sorry."

"Sorry? For what exactly?"

"I'm just apologizing beforehand. I'm the least competent of this group. I know I'll eventually do something that will slow you down or cost us dearly, so..."

The name "Shywood" couldn't have been more fitting. Such modesty was incredibly rare for a magus, especially a talented one. By her very nature, Sayla would never declare herself talented, though. Had she been the Master of pirate **Francis Drake** , the Spartan **Leonidas** , or the eccentric musician **Mozart** , their character would have easily overwhelmed her own.

Luckily, Archer's temperament aligned with Sayla's as perfectly as Idmund had hoped.

"Master, are you prone to underestimating yourself like this? If so, let me tell you now - the Grail would not select a subpar magus to participate in one of its conflicts. You are my Master because you are worthy of commanding a Heroic Spirit. Remember this."

It was an odd dynamic for a Master and Servant to have, but Idmund was satisfied by what he saw. A bit flustered by Archer's praise, Sayla nodded then left the garden in the same fashion as Everitt and Radzimir.

His garden now empty, Idmund gazed upon it. It was a magnificent example of landscaping, though to Idmund, the sight had grown long mundane. Things going as smoothly as they were, he managed to find beauty in it once more.

"Everything's coming together almost too perfectly... Once Ruler and her "Disgrace of Camelot" are both disposed of, we can proceed with our subjugation of the Clock Tower."

"Subjugation? And here I was thinking the plan was complete obliteration of the place," Rider said.

"Clock Tower's destruction was never what I was aiming for, Rider. If it was, simply you, Saber and Lancer would have been enough. No, occupation of the Mage's Association headquarters is much more difficult than just destroying outright. And it would be a much more severe blow to them as well. Don't you agree, Sir Francis?"

"As your Servant, as well as the villain on your payroll, you can trust me to agree with whatever nonsense comes out your mouth."

Basically, " _You pay, I'll follow_ ". It was simplicity at its finest - something Idmund couldn't help but admire. Rider may have been one of the Elizabethan Era's greatest national heroes, but she was still a privateer at heart. Her feelings having been made clear, Rider made herself scarce, leaving only Idmund and Sialim standing at the height of the stairs.

"Sialim, tell me, when will you have _that_ finished?"

"Everything will be prepared right on time, my Lord."

Idmund smiled as Sialim's reliability shined as bright as always.

Just as he was about to dismiss her, however, she had stopped him. There was a question she needed to ask.

"My Lord, I still don't know what Henriette Otto von Tideman used as a catalyst. Just what Heroic Spirit did he summon?"

"..."

The identity of the Servant Henriette had summoned without a doubt held more fame in London than Joan of Arc's "Disgrace of Camelot" or even his Rider...

* * *

 **|||~I~|||**

* * *

" _This..._ is **Jack the Ripper**?"

One could not blame Weiss for voicing her confusion. It was the most notorious killer in London's history, one who's infamy has spread across the world, and _he_ was not what anyone would have imagined. _He_ was but a child, and a young girl at that.

Unlike his homunculus, Henriette was quite pleased by his summoning. "Are you really, Jack the Ripper? Wow. You're a lot cuter than I imagined you would be."

As though she was his little sister, Henriette rubbed the Servant's head.

"...Why are petting us?"

"Oh? You don't like it?"

A bit disappointed, the necromancer pulled his hand away.

 **Jack the Ripper** \- the serial killer who shook all of London over a century ago through a series of brutal murder. From this very city, her bloody legacy had been born and remained preserved through countless pieces of literature and, recently, pop culture. There existed no Heroic Spirit in existence whose fame was greater within London, not even **King Arthur**. As it was, Jack could barely be considered an Assassin now. She was more akin to a hybrid between a Saber and an Assassin-class Servant.

This was not enough for the successor of the Tideman family, however. He wanted her become even stronger. And this was where Bridget remains came in hand.

Retrieving the knife from her corpse, Henriette casually told his Servant "You must be hungry as just be summoned. Go ahead and eat all you want."

"We aren't hungry. Servants can't get hungry."

"I insist."

A bit confused, Assassin went along with her strange Master's request.

What happened next goes without explaining. Rather, it's too appalling to even be explained. There was an alternative way for Servants to gain mana aside from receiving it from their Master naturally: Devouring humans. It was a practice most Heroic Spirits would never let themselves sink to, but for someone like Jack the Ripper...

' _Ngh...!'_

Weiss squirmed as Assassin somewhat skillfully cut Bridget open and dug in. Just this morning she had served Bridget tea. Now, her organs were being used as fuel for her master's new "pet".

"Eat all you want, Assassin. I'll find you more later."

"We are not hungry... but okay."

With his Servant devouring Bridget's innards in the background, Henriette gave his attention to, what he called, the Wall of Faces. Though, the only face he admired one. Once the war against the Clock Tower was one, Rin Tohsaka would definitely become his at last.

"I can't wait, Rin..."


	4. Chap 4 - Stolen Blessings

**Chapter 4: Stolen Blessings**

-:- _The_ _4th Night_ -:-

* * *

The Westminster Abbey was a house of worship; not an actual house. Within its tall gothic walls there were no kitchen or living quarters to speak of. Even the room Ruler settled into was merely a study Elijah Malbrook had remodeled for her. Domesticity was not meant to be a function of any church.

Which made it all the more surprising when the Father escorted Ruler to the bath chamber.

Sitting within the underground alcove was a bathtub, petals littered over its sudsy waters. The chamber itself seemed antique, but it had been well maintained since its construction by, amazingly, Henry III: The famous English King who constructed the present-day Westminster Abbey. Ruler couldn't help but speculate about what other hidden additions Henry of Winchester had built?

"Use it as you like, maiden," Eli said cordially before heading back upstairs.

Bathing regularly was something Ruler required due to possessing a vessel rather than borrowing a spiritual one granted by the Grail. Having a body made of actual flesh came with complications that other Servants weren't forced to deal with. Though they were mostly just basic needs like eating to ward off hunger and sleeping routinely.

These problems were more akin to inconveniences than they were actual dilemmas. No, what truly bothered Ruler was the fact that the Ruler of the Black Grail likely shared none of these issues with her. From their first and only meeting, she could discern as much.

And besides...

"Ahh..." Ruler sighed as she settled into the water.

It was the most relaxing she had been in days.

Since the moment she possessed Leticia's body, pursuing the Grail had been her only goal in mind. Thanks to the influence of her [Revelation] skill, convincing Leticia's family that the Lord had bequested her with a mission was simple. As was obtaining a plane flight to London.

It was only when she located the Lesser Grail that complications arose.

* * *

|||~I~|||

* * *

It was a manor which belonged to the Banistor clan, reputed to have been built in the eleventh century, before Ruler's time or the beginning to the Hundred Years War. The bounded fields that surrounded it were of a unique breed - more physical than any others Ruler had ever seen. Ordinary bounded fields warded off unwanted company and guarded against magic, the ones in front of her were more akin to invisible walls. Normally, careful application would be required to bring such an array of fields down, but there was no time for carefulness.

Fidelity was nothing the Maid of Orléans could squander her time on, not with the Grail itself on the line. Just like when she when she was crusading in the Hundred Years War, Ruler charged at the manor, her famous flag [ **Luminosité Eternelle** ] held in front like a jousting lance.

Any bounded field surrounding the manor was torn through like wet paper. Ruler could only imagine how many alarms she had set off. Acknowledging this, she vaulted to the manor's highest floor, smashing through the window.

Rolling to a stop, her first thought was _'The Grail is here...'_

It was through her [Revelation] that she was guided to London. Once inside the British metropolis she could distinguish the Grail's location through her status as a Ruler alone. Now that she inside the building it had been stowed, she knew exactly which floor it sat and how many meters were between it and her.

Exiting the room Ruler expected an ambush. Imagine her surprise upon entering an empty hallway. Considering how many layers of bounded fields she had torn through during her entrance, she expected something at the very least.

Understandably suspicious of the manor's forbearance, she continued to the room at the end of the wing where she detected the Lesser Grail. The door was unlocked, and Ruler's suspicions grew. She was unsure of who she was invading, but it was impossible that the one who had acquired the Lesser Grail would have such lax security.

And yet... There wasn't a single soul she could sense within her ambience. With a distance of roughly six miles, Ruler was capable of detecting her surroundings. So far as she could discern, she was an empty home. The Grail being her only company.

"..."

Her wariness at its peak, Ruler opened the door to what could only be a trophy room. Mounted on the walls were the heads of numerous Magical Beasts - phantasmal creatures that were birth by the myths and imagination of the human race. When the Age of Gods met its end, the belief humans once held for these creatures deteriorated like it also had for many polytheistic religions, and they went into hiding; gradually dissipating from the world. Chimera, hydras, minotaurs - the list of beasts in the room varied greatly. It must have been a hobby or trade for the Banistor clan.

Honestly, Ruler was indifferent. Only one trophy in that room garnered her attention, and it was golden chalice she was been looking for - the Lesser Grail. It sat behind a wall of glass like a actual trophy would.

How fortunate that there was no lock for the glass. Too fortunate. At this point, had drawn the line between miracles and obvious traps. Before she could proceed, however, a stranger revealed themselves.

"A rat trying to steal the goblet of Christ? What has the world come to?" they said from the shadows.

Ruler was quick to react. The room was too enclosed for her to use her flag, making her reach for her sword. Apparently, the anonymous one behind Ruler came to the same conclusion and planted their hand over Ruler's.

 _'What?!'_ The sword stayed in its sheathe.

Before she could make use of her other hand, the stranger once again beat her to the punch - gripping the backside of the standard-bearer's head, then slamming it into the glass. Shattered pieces littered at their feet like snowflakes. Ruler had yet to bleed, but her ambusher sought to change that.

Throwing her back-first into a bookshelf, various text showered over her and Ruler's assailant followed suit with their fists. They may as well have wore holsters on their hands instead of gauntlets, for each punch they threw was akin to a magnum shot at point-blank.

For their fists to be so strong, her attacker could only be Servant. And a vicious one at that. But why couldn't she sense them before? If they were hiding in this room, Ruler should have detected them even if they were an Assassin.

"Uggh _-!_ " Her neck was snatched, and Ruler's attacker hauled her up as though she was weightless.

Thrown by her neck to the other side of the room, she arrived at the opposite wall with a " _Thoom!_ ", prompting the heads of countless magical beasts to rain over her. Before she could even gain footing, her attacker's boot was planted in her chest.

"Gaagh _-!_ "

She could feel her chest caving in from that one stomp. Even the floorboard underneath Ruler cracked.

"For a rat, you're actually quite tough. Breaking you might prove to be a challenge."

Such ferocity... Such cruelty... The room being so dark, Ruler couldn't make out their face properly, making her unable to discern their class and identity.

Was she facing a Berserker? No. A warrior of madness wouldn't be this articulate or have been able to conceal themselves.

Still bewildered, Ruler gagged for air.

"W-who are you?"

The assailant freed Ruler's chest from the oppression of their boot, but only to smash it into her face. Repeatedly.

"You! Dare! Call! Yourself! A Ruler!" they barked in-between stomps.

The trouncing was brought to a halt when Ruler grabbed their heel. The floor beneath her was on the verge of caving in under her.

 _'No more...'_ she thought.

Whatever their class was it did not matter. A Servant was still a Servant, and she was Ruler: A Servant granted special privileges the others didn't possess. The most impressive of which being her Command Seals.

Still holding onto her attacker's heel, Ruler raised her other hand. "Servant... I command you to take your own life!"

Silence occupied room. Only briefly, however. Once the quiet sunk in, the anonymous Servant freed their foot and struck Ruler's head with it. She couldn't tell whether it was the blow or the fact that her Command Seal had been completely ineffective that shook her more.

Reeling her up by the collar, Ruler's assailant glared right into her eyes.

"Words cannot describe how much a disgrace you are... Are you so grotty that you've forgotten that your Command Seals are worthless against another Ruler?"

It was revelation even she could not have foresaw, simply due to it being impossible. Two Rulers shouldn't be summoned at the same time. They couldn't have. The Grail just wouldn't allow it. But how else would Ruler explain her Command Seal being resisted so effortlessly? Even a Servant with highest [Magic Resistance] would have been affected.

And yet...

"Why... Why do you exist?" Ruler asked.

The other Ruler sneered with animosity.

"You weren't even aware of the presence of another Grail. Are you _trying_ to make sick now?

She tried to struggle in their grasp, but it was wasted effort. They were stronger. They were in control. They held Ruler's life in their hands.

"Listen very closely, failure. A Ruler is more than just a standard-bearer. We guide the Grail just as much as it guides us, and as such should be aware of its every intention." The unknown Ruler placed a hand on Joan of Arc's chest. "A disgrace like you who doesn't even know this... You don't deserve the blessings the Grail has given you."

The hand on Ruler's chest began to smolder.

Black.

Not rot or decay, but darkness itself seethed from their hand.

Evil.

Essence that no Ruler class Servant should have been in possession of. Like oil polluting the Gulf, it seeped through Jeanne's clothes and then into her skin.

It burned... Not her skin itself, but Jeanne's insides - they were on fire. If the pyre that consumed her at the end of her life took her flesh, the "evil" that was defiling her innards threatened to take her will. Had either her willpower or [Magic Resistance] been too fragile, she would have completely lost herself. Both virtues stood strong, however. And that was exactly what the other Ruler had hoped.

They didn't want Jeanne to give in, to be altered into a form separate from her true self. No, taking the gifts the Lesser Grail had bestowed her were more than enough to satisfy them.

" _Aaaaaagh-!_ " It felt like her back was being scolded with molten rock.

Her Command Seals - they were vanishing. She could feel them disappearing. Or, more accurately, being seared off. The highest privilege a Ruler could possess was taken from her just like that. With the deed done, the anonymous Ruler released their counterpart from their grasp. After dropping to the floor, she glared up at the thief who stole [God's Resolution] from her, their indignant eyes glowering right back at her.

Biting her lip, she came to the sad conclusion _'I cannot beat this person...'_

Running away was Ruler's only option.

Reaching for her sword again she lashed out her assailant, causing them to back off at last. Rushing to the busted trophy case, she procured the Lesser Grail and vaulted out a window before her rival could give chase. She only glanced back once to see the other Ruler's dark figure in the window's frame. They were showing no interest in chasing her, of which Jeanne was both confused and grateful for.

Sprinting across the plains behind the Banistors' manor, the River Thames - the longest throughout the entirety of England - came into view. Following it would guide Ruler back to the city. But, of course, her pursuers would not make things so easy for her.

 _"Whish!"_ was the sound the blade arching toward the back of Ruler's head made. The sparks born from her parry scattered like fireflies. Still recovering from her earlier thrashing, she barely deflected it in time. With the Lesser Grail in one hand, Ruler could - once again - only afford to use her sword.

Though, whom she was wielding it against nearly caused her to lose her grip.

"...Gilles?"

Impossible. It couldn't be him. He wouldn't have been summoned.

And yet, there he was.

Without a doubt, the attacker who tried to cleave through her head was **Gilles de Rais**. She would never forget his face. Everything, from the armor he wore to the sword her bore mirrored his regalia during the Hundred Years War. Everything except the way he would smile at her.

"Gilles... Why are you... Ggh- _!_ "

Before a full sentence left her lips, Gilles lashed at her again, barely giving Ruler time to defend. A tremor ran down her blade and journeyed through her arm. It was a nostalgic feeling. One Ruler remembered well, as she had been on the receiving end of similiar strokes during her lifetime.

In-between battles Gilles would take her task, personally training her on how to use the sword. Joan of Arc was never known for engaging in combat; rather she rode with the infantry weaponless, keeping her flag as high as she could, and doing the same for her troops' morale.

But that was not enough, according to Gilles.

" _Man or woman, warrior or standard-bearer; every soldier on the battlefield must know the skills of arms,"_ he once told her.

He was strict when it came to training, tyrannical even; forcing Ruler to spar until her arms could no longer bear the weight of her sword. During one session, the sun descended then rose again. Gilles was completely unreasonable, but Ruler never forsook being his student for that short time. Though the chance to put his teachings to use never reared itself, she held her hard earned skills dear.

That those same skills be put to use against her teacher was something she never expected... or wanted.

"Nnnh _-!_ "

Tatters of Ruler's battle dress flew as Gilles' sword bounced off her own. He was faster. From how each of his strikes was forcing her to retreat, he was stronger as well. The gap between them should not have been this wide. Regardless of his status as a Saber, as a Ruler-class Servant her strength should have been roughly the equivalent of his own. And through the power of [Revelation] her sword was guided by God.

Though, in the end her style was still distinguished by her own form - the form Gilles himself had taught her. This was what formed the chasm between the two. As their blades danced, filling the air around them with sparks, Gilles was simultaneously reverse-engineering Ruler's swordsmanship. With every parry his blade would slash faster; each consecutive slice cutting deeper than the last.

Still, if it was all but a difference in skill - if that was the only advantage Gilles held over her - Ruler could still surmount the challenge. But that was not all...

 _'Gilles, why is he... Why can't he recognize me...?'_

Ruler's mind was in just as intense a battle as as her body; and losing just as decisively. There was no person in this world, short of her family, who would recognize Jeanne better than he - the Marshal of France. Yet he brought down his sword with a fury one would only spare for their nemesis. Even throughout all their training, Ruler had never seen so much disgust in his eyes.

Why was he treating her like the enemy?

"Ha... G-Gilles... Please, listen to me..." Ruler pleaded, her sword hand on her bleeding hip.

The Grail dangled from her fingers, seeming ready to drop at any moment - much like the rest of her. Countless cuts were bestrewn across her body, but the silver knight before her stayed flawless, not even a scratch was made on his plated armor.

"I am impressed, witch. That you mimicked Jeanne's form so perfectly is proof of how dedicated you are to this farce."

"Farce..? This isn't a farce! I'm not pretending to be Jeanne! I am- _Unh-_!"

Jeanne crumpled to one knee, hugging the Grail to her chest to prevent herself from dropping it. She was reaching her limit - physically and mentally. It was a perfect opportunity for the Gilles. Another well-placed strike and she would be completely disabled, if not already on her way to the next life.

He raised his sword, its edge destined for Ruler's neck, but he faltered. A key moment, one he likely wouldn't be given once more, but her image wasn't one he could so easily cut down. It was at times like this he would always lower his sword. While Jeanne was exhausted like a beaten workhorse, unable to even raise her sword, Gilles would lower his own and offer her his hand.

Ruler's eyes widened when Gilles did so.

"Gilles, you..."

Take it. This was her first impulse; what her heart told her to do...but she knew she couldn't. Surprisingly enough, the first person to regain themselves was Ruler. With a startling strike Gilles barely guarded himself from, she sprinted away.

"Tch!" Cursing his gullibility, Gilles gave chase.

A final slash was delivered to Ruler's back just as she hurled herself into the River Thames.

"Gaaah _-!_ " Ruler screamed before disappearing beneath the waters with a _"Splash!"_

For a full minute, Gilles watched the river carefully, waiting for the witch to reveal herself again. Blood was all that surfaced. This meant two things: Ruler had drowned or, less likely, she had survived and floated along with river's current. Either way, the Grail was lost to Gilles. This would displease his Master and her master.

With a "Hmph." Gilles vanished into golden specks.

Nearly two hundred meters down the river, Ruler finally resurfaced. She was severely wounded, and all she could manage to do was keep the Grail in her grasp as she floated with the current. It was a miracle she was not dead.

And an even greater one that Shirou Emiya saved her.

* * *

|||~I~|||

* * *

Ruler nestled into the bathwater until her head was the only thing to go unsubmerged, letting the warmth ease her thoughts. Idmund Versailles had set the bait and she took it like the gullible trout she was, losing many of her privileges as a Ruler including her presence detection skill and [God's Resolution], and almost her - and Laeticia's - life. She may have gained the Lesser Grail, but it have been tampered with. Had she not met Shirou it would have meant the end.

Technically, it still did. The Grail was still not properly functioning, and Shirou himself told her he couldn't support another Servant.

Ruler sighed.

"We need to summon more Servants soon..."

"Are you still saying that? Didn't I already tell you that I'm enough by himself?"

From where Ruler heard the disembodied voice originate, a mass of golden specks materialized into the Knight of Treachery - Mordred.

"Saber! Why are you-" Ruler suddenly put on a bewildered expression. "...taking off your clothes?"

Just as Ruler said, the Disgrace of Camelot was stripping herself right in front of the bath.

"What? Do you expect me to bathe with my clothes on? Now, move over."

Without letting her get in a word edgewise, Mordred dip down into the opposite side of the bath, causing water to spill over the edges. The tub suddenly became cramped with Mordred's legs overlapping with Ruler's. The former didn't mind the lack of space one bit. The latter certainly had her complaints, but her annoyance was overwritten by how surprised she was at the softness of Mordred's skin. As rough as she was, Ruler expected her to be more... coarse.

"Mmmh... The temperature is nice. Much better than the baths I took when I was alive," Mordred mewled.

"You took baths often, Saber?"

Mordred shot the Maid of Orléans a look.

"Oy. Just what are you insinuating, Ruler? Do you take me for some mutt who lets fleas fester about him for months on end? I'll have you know I washed myself daily when I was alive, just as Mother instructed me to. She threatened to lock me outside otherwise. _Those who behave like mutts, sleep with them_ was a favorite saying of her's."

"But you have a spiritual body now. Once you dematerialize, everything except for your wounds will return to their natural state."

"True enough, but I've grown tired of staying in my spiritual state all day. This gives my skin a chance to breathe again. Fools me into thinking I'm alive."

Mordred truly was a restless soul. She despised staying in her spiritual form so much that she would stay materialized all throughout the day, even while idling about the garden. The toll this was putting onto Shirou, and whether Mordred cared or not, Ruler had no idea.

Scrubbing her arm, Mordred casually asked a question that made Ruler jump a bit.

"How many Servants has Idmund Versailles already summoned, Ruler?"

"...I don't know."

"What? Aren't Ruler's supposed to be aware of this sort of thing? Are you some sort of hack?"

The accusation brought a frown to the standard-bearer's face, and a hit to her esteem. She shook her head.

"Not too long ago, the Ruler of the Black Grail and I fought. It ended with me losing several of my abilities as a Ruler class Servant, one of which being my intrinsic knowledge of how many participants are currently in the war. Though, if I had to guess... He's likely already summoned seven."

"So the Army of the Black Grail has been amassed, has it? Perfect! Just what I was hoping!"

In her enthusiasm, Mordred splashed nearly a bucket's amount of water into Ruler's face. What a terrible bathmate the Knight of Treachery made.

"Saber... this is serious. While I don't doubt you are the most powerful participant in this war, you're still only one woma..." A sharp glance from Mordred made Ruler consider her next words carefully. "...You are only one person. Fighting seven Heroic Spirits by yourself is too absurd to even consider."

"Have your memories of the night of my summoning magically vanished, Ruler? I could have taken three other Sabers using the opposite end of my sword."

"You would never lose to Gilles to a duel, yes; but when six others of equal strength join in wit-"

"Enough!" More bathwater splashed from the tub as with Mordred's exclamation. "How many times must I tell you? With _your Lord_ as our witness, I will dominate this war on own. All seven Servants will fall by sword, and so will the Black Grail!"

Her vigor almost seemed to cause turbulence in the tub by itself. This went beyond simple zeal, Mordred was participating in this conflict with a vendetta in mind - something she wanted to prove. Just what had lit her up so much? Did it have anything to do with her talk with Shirou?

Ruler expected the knight to storm out, but she sat back in tub instead, bemusing the maiden.

"Uh... you aren't getting out?"

"Of course not. I haven't even gotten behind my ears yet."

"Ah. I see. Well then..."

Ruler stood, her expression still still befuddled. Drying herself off, she donned an outfit Father Elijah had prepared for her and left the chamber just as Mordred was wetting her hair.

* * *

|||~I~|||

* * *

"Ah, done already, maiden?"

The sky was still red that morning, and yet Father Eli was already in the little cloister garden, give its flowers their bi-daily shower. Ruler waved at him while approaching.

Though Elijah Malbrook was definitely an intimidating man with his grizzled features and olympian height, his heart held a warmth one would expect from a man of cloth. In the days Ruler had been a guest of the abbey, despite always calling her "maiden", the priest treated her more like his daughter.

"Yes. And thank you for the robes, Father," Ruler said, properly folding her sleeves. "These are meant for priestesses to wear, aren't they?"

"I think they fit the image of saint well enough. You never got to wear the cloth when you alive, yes? Please, use this opportunity to its fullest."

Ruler warmly caressed at the sleeves of her uniform.

"Do you always water the flower in the mornings, Father?" she asked.

"Tulips aren't able to do it themselves I'm afraid." Seeing how invested Ruler appeared in the chore, Eli asked "Would you like to try yourself?"

Delighted was the only word Ruler could think to answer with, though she didn't say it. She merely nodded eagerly and reached for the pail. What she felt breach Westminster Abbey's bounded fields made her snatch up Eli instead.

Grasping his shoulder, Ruler tugged him back just as the meteor of rage and flesh crashed into the the little cloister. It was impossible to see through the debris of dirt chunks of one of the cloister walls that clouded the air... but it was fair to say the flowers Eli had watered were no more.

As a debris cleared, Ruler's galiant figure was revealed. She stood over the Father with her armor fully materialized.

" ** _Rrrraaagh-!_** " the monster who had invaded the garden howled, causing the detritus around it to disperse.

A titanous savage, had invaded the abbey. And a Servant at that. Ruler could perceive that much with her skill [True Name Discernment].

Standing at two meters, he would have towered over even Elijah. And held in his hand was an atrocious weapon - an axe almost as tall as the titan himself, with what could only be described as "veins" climbing from its shaft to its blade.

"Berserker..." Ruler muttered.

" ** _Rrrraaaaagh-!_** " he howled again, launching himself at her.

It was no different from facing down a freight train. Even for a Ruler, trying to go even with such an assault was akin to sprinting toward a missile... but with the Father still behind her, she had no other choice but to.

Ruler's flag took form in her hands as she braced to endure Berserker's blow, but a figure of silver and crimson blurred between them first. With a thundering "Clang!" that broke throughout the cloister like a thunderclap, the crazed warrior was sent reeling; a road of skid marks left where his feet trailed.

"Now, this is convenient - it seems the Servants of the Black Grail are coming to us before we can come to them," Mordred made the air whistle with a swing. "Perfect. This gives me a chance to prove my point ahead of schedule. Now... Watch and learn, Ruler!"

Despite already being knocked away once... " ** _Rrrgaaahh-!_** " Berserker let loose a howl and threw himself at Mordred. Following the mad man's lead, Mordred did the same, and their clash made the earth beneath them rubble, as though the tectonic plates themselves were disturbed.

She was well below the average warrior's height and he was well above it, but in such a skirmish things like height differences were thrown out the window. Each time [ **Clarent** ] met Berserker's axe, the air itself would rift as both weapons ricocheted off each other. Neither warrior moved an inch, rather they slugged their arms at one another daring for the other give in first.

From what Ruler could see, the battle may as well have been between two Berserkers. It was not a dual, but an endurance round. And everything around the two were quaking, save for themselves. Yet, one of them should have long ago. Berserker - despite his arms littered in deep incisions, his swing never weakened nor slowed. Both increased, actually. As did Mordred's.

Their weapons were blitzing as speeds the human eye could no longer follow. After images of their limbs, and sparks where [ **Clarent** ] and Berserker's axe connected were all Father Eli could make out. It may as well have been a fireworks display.

Berserker's dexterity with the axe was beyond what Mordred would have anticipated from a warrior blind with rage, but it still wasn't enough.

The opening she was looking for finally revealed itself, and she lashed out at it, drawing more blood from the titan before her than there was water in the fountain. Even Berserker would be forced back by such an attack.

"That was a nice skirmish, Berserker. You put up more of fight than that fake-Saber did, at least..." Mordred pointed her blade at him giant. "But even the greatest king of the nation we stand upon was felled by me. Our battle will go no different."

The axe-wielder growled under his breathe. Despite his body being littered with slashes, he showed no signs of retreating. As was the trait of his class - to fight until death, whether it be his or his enemy.

" ** _Rgaaaaaahh-!_** " Berserker's menacing axe was raised over his head...

And there it stayed for nearly ten seconds.

"...Tch!" Berserker suddenly clicked his tongue. "By the Allfather! What a bothersome lass my Master is..."

It was shocking moment for everyone in the cloister. Servants of the Berserker class were supposed to be devoid of their sanity, trading it for peerless physical capabilities. And yet the horned, axe-wielder before them seemed perfectly sane; albeit, still enraged.

He suddenly picked up on the atmosphere. "What's this? You'll all gone quiet."

"How... Are you not a Berserker?! How is your sanity still intact?!" Mordred barked at him.

Berserker touched his axe to his shoulder and laughed hardily, as though he had just been told a joke by a mate at the pub.

"Have you lost your way, lad? You really think that bit of [Mad Enhancement] the Grail lobbed my way when I was summoned is enough for me lose myself? Do you know how many times I triggered the Berserker Rage throughout my lifetime: Literally every battle I've been in since I was a boy. That's the essence of being a raider, lad. We Norseman were the original Berserkers! You expect nothing less from the King of Norway - Eric Bloodaxe!"

Eric Bloodaxe - having entered the profession of piracy before even the age of twelve, his life was one painted with bloodshed and countless raids. Even when his status rose his methods did not; slaying his own brothers to secure his full power over Norway. A raider through and through, even when he sat on the throne. For the King of Norway, his path was one paved red with blood.

"A viking are you? One of those pillagers from the North... I never had to pleasure of fighting one myself."

Mordred kept her sword at the ready, still raring to continue their battle.

"Ha! Are you truly the Disgrace of Camelot? You've a bit too much bloodlust for a Brit."

"The shoe fits then."

Berserker chortled at her comeback. Considering how barely a full minute ago they were still engaged in a fight to death, the present atmosphere was off-putting to Ruler and the priest behind her.

The Viking-King sighed nostalgically. "A duel to the death... Sounds glorious! Valhalla would welcome both of us with open arms."

Berserker sighed again, sounding much more fatigued this time.

"This makes it all the more regretful. You see, my Master put a Command Seal on me to retreat once the odds tipped out of my favor. I was just supposed to take out Ruler then steal off with Lesser Grail, but - oddly enough - you turned out to be here too. It's something my Master hadn't counted on. Shouldn't you be with that magus Ruler made a contract with? He'd make a much easier target than another Servant would, would he not?"

Mordred scoffed. "Worry about yourself instead of my Master, Berserker. You aren't really running off with your tail between your legs, are you?"

"Yep. That's exactly what I'm doing. Of course...if you gave chase and threatened to discover where my Master's Workshop was, I'd have no choice but to face you."

Berserker grinned. He basically gave her an open invitation. With a single jump, he launched himself from the cloister garden and out of the abbey, not giving Mordred a second glance. Taunting her.

A viking not only challenging a knight, but also egging them on? Mordred's pride would not allow that to stand.

 _'Prepare yourself, King of Norway!'_

"Saber, do not go after him!" Ruler ordered.

The knight of silver and crimson glanced back at her. Annoyed or angry, it was hard to discern which better described her at the moment.

"Have you gone mad, Ruler? Weren't you the one who told me that defeating seven Servants at once was impossible? Well, this is our chance to dwindle their number."

"It's also our chance to fall into a foreseeable trap."

Mordred dismissed the comment with a gesture.

"As if any trap Berserker's Master set could stop me." The knight sliced the air in rebellion. "Enough of this! I'm going after him."

She braced herself to launch out of the cloister garden, but Ruler stopped her with a single gesture.

"Saber." Ruler held forth her hand. With this gesture, the Knight of Treachery froze in place, sensing a different ambience around the Maid. "Do not forget that I am the one who holds your Command Seals. If you continue trying to throw yourself in harm's way, I'll make you obey by force."

Rarely would a threat ever disturb Mordred enough for to lower her sword, the only exceptions having came from her mother, but Ruler's words were no bluff - this much the knight could tell. For a moment... she could even see the image of her father in her. Fortunately for Ruler, it had the opposite effect it normally would that morning.

With a click of the tongue, Mordred's sword and armor vanished. Relieved at her Servant's compliance, Ruler lowered her arm and dismissed her armor as well. Honestly, the gesture was more for effect than anything else. Ruler's Command Seals were located on her back rather than her hand, as was their usual resting place for Masters. But the gesture was enough make her Servant understand. Thankfully.

Ruler did not want to expend a Command Seal over something as silly as making Mordred "stay still."

 _\- Shouldn't you be with that magus Ruler made a contract with? -_

Berserker's question resounded throughout Ruler's thoughts. While Shirou was providing Mordred mana, Ruler still held the Command Seals. They would be worthless if she was not around to observe the knight's behavior. It made the most strategic sense for them to stay close.

Even so, Shirou honestly was a sitting duck. The only reason Ruler had been targeted before he had was due to her being the Lesser Grail's keeper, and the Westminster Abbey - regardless of its numerous bounded fields and connection to the monarchy - being an easier target than the Clock Tower.

There was no guarantee things would stay that way. Idmund's ultimate goal was the Clock Tower. It would only be a matter of time until Shirou would be the one facing down Berserker's axe. The only factor determining when was how far Idmund Versailles was willing to wait.

The sound of Eli popping his neck brought Ruler back to Earth.

"My Lord... What an exhausting way to spend the morning," he said. He glanced at the now nonexistent flower bed. The sight almost brought a tear to his eye. "Ah... So many months of labor taken away - Just. Like. That. It's too much!"

Mordred snorted at his show.

"Just plant more, Malbrook. It's not like the soil is any less fertile."

"Ah. Very decisive point, Saber. Oh, and thank you for saving my life."

Mordred flapped the coats of her jacket. "Just consider it payback for the outfit."

Elijah put a hand on Ruler's shoulder, thanking her as well.

"It's regrettable you didn't get a chance to water the flowers though, maiden."

"Don't worry, Father. I'll have a second chance once you finish replanting the garden."

Eli nodded again.

"...Let's contact Shirou beforehand, shall we?"

"O-oh... Yes, we should do that first."


End file.
